These Visions of You
by Mirrordance
Summary: When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf.
1. A Magnificent Stray

Author: Mirrordance

Title: These Visions of You

Summary: _When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf._

 **hi guys!**

First things first, thanks to all who read, followed, favorited, voted for and especially all who reviewed my most recent fic, _Two Kings Come Calling_. For the lovely reviewers, please expect personalized responses very soon :)

The first chapter of this newest fic, _These Visions of You_ , was previewed at the end of _Two Kings Come Calling_ and is pretty much as I had shown it there. It received such kind feedback that I have decided to move forward with it (I am actually almost done now, thanks to the inspiring and motivating reviews on the preview). It will be four chapters with a possible epilogue, plus my usual afterword. I am looking at a post a week until conclusion, though I've been known to post sooner. I won't pretend that reviews aren't one of the most motivating factors for a quicker finish, but I'm trying my best to be more disciplined hahaha.

To those who missed the preview, this is a slash fic. I understand it's not for everyone, and so for folks upon whom that sort of thing matters, I guess I can be upfront and say that like my other slash work, it will be pretty light physical-wise (because I am prudish like that, haha!). At any rate, no matter your persuasion, I do hope you give it a shot, and find some enjoyment in it.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are so heartily welcome. Feed this writer if you can my friends, and tell me what you think... there are many parts of this that is new for me :) Without further ado:

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 **1: A Magnificent Stray**

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The Lord Glorfindel was wise enough to admit that thousands of years as a living legend and being pandered to accordingly, could bring about certain... expectations.

Stable hands almost wrestling among themselves to take his horse's reins, for example. A warm greeting from a senior member of the household upon his arrival perhaps, or a cool drink of water infused with seasonal blooms in the summer and warm tea in the cold, offered even before both boots have hit the ground. He'd also known eager welcome from an admirer or two, sometimes by former lovers.

He wasn't expecting fanfare, but he was used to – and rather appreciative of – being given all that he needed and wanted. He was less amenable to the incessant watching he was often subject to, but even that was absent when he arrived in Rivendell one fair afternoon.

The guards and grooms, and the other elves that kept Lord Elrond's home running to its impeccable, unmatched standards, was scarce. Whoever remained seemed distracted, as if they longed to be elsewhere.

Glorfindel knew of few reasons – none of them good – that a home such as this would be brought to discord, and his blood turned cold. He accosted a scurrying soldier.

"Oh!" the younger elf said in surprise. His eyes widened in the realization that the tall, golden-haired warrior wanted anything to do with him. "M-m-my lord! How may I serve you?"

"What has happened here?" Glorfindel asked, even as he reached out with his own senses. He could hear blades singing in the distance, near drowned by the sounds of the rushing water weaving all around Imladris.

"The Lord Elrond would want to see you immediately I am sure," said the other elf. "He is in the main courtyard, with the others."

It explained nothing, but Glorfindel understood that whatever answers he needed would be found there. He released the elf to his duties and stalked past stables and receiving halls and the winding paths of Elrond's storied residence, following the sound of the swordfight.

They grew louder as he came closer. There were several blades in a small chorus, all made by his kin unless his ears deceived him. He knew by the thin, sharp sound they made as razor-thin edges clashed against each other. They sounded like brittle glass except they could hold until the end of the ages, if made well. These sounded flawless.

He could also tell all the blades were of elf-make from how they sounded when they pushed and glided against each other – the sound was long, sustained and even.

But beneath the song of mighty swords was a smaller voice with a different rhythm. Lighter and faster, tailed by a fierce, whipping wind.

Glorfindel entered the largest of Rivendell's many courtyards. It was surrounded by high arches woven around the branches of tall, majestic trees. Here, the foliage grew heavy and the rocks were thick. One barely heard the waterfalls outside. In here, the swords really sang. Their notes soared, no longer devoured by the rush of water.

There was a training exercise of sorts, watched by a thick throng of enthralled spectators, Lord Elrond amongst them. This was, he realized, where most of the household went and where the rest wished they could be.

No one noticed the legendary warrior enter, and he kept that anonymity by staying behind to observe things quietly. By luck of his towering height he could see what had drawn everyone there.

There was an elf soldier – tall and wiry but powerful, his long hair a pale, silken gold – with a white knife held in each hand in lieu of a single, heavier sword. He was parrying and fighting against two of Elrond's best, and he was running circles around them.

Glorfindel's lips turned up in appreciation and his eyes trailed after the skilled combatants. A warrior of Glorfindel's caliber could not help but feel an itch on his fingertips. Skills in warring were dangerous gifts to have, and to know them well was a curse to need them. But there was art to be found in fighting too, and an unavoidable sense of desire to be the best at it.

He tilted his head in consideration of the lightly-built elf. By the colors of his garb and that golden head it was clear this was a wood-elf of Oropher's House, and unsurprisingly he had the wood-elves' ability to utilize tight spaces and irregular terrain to advantage. This elf was ingenious in using Rivendell's soaring columns and the hardy branches overhead. He would perch and push off of them, all but dance around them. He was a warrior of feline, balletic stealth, rather than the bruising force often needed on a more open battlefield. But it wasn't just his clever use of space that Glorfindel found intriguing. Wood-elves were exceptional at fighting in the dark. Beneath the eaves of their thick, rich trees was shade, yes, but from the encroaching dark of their fallen south, there was shadow too. These beleaguered elves could fight with limited light, and with heightened senses not wholly dependent on their eyes, they could take on enemies without seeing them, such as those on their backs. The gifted young one before him, for example, could weather a twofold assault even if one was coming from behind him, unseen. Indeed, the spectacular wood-elf's abstract gaze wasn't even focused on his foes.

Objectively, Glorfindel determined that the two Rivendell elves needed to work better together to best this fiery upstart. Less objectively, however, his sword hand itched to test this young warrior. This was a wild horse that needed some breaking...

... but he held his ground. He didn't live for all these years without learning restraint. Something else was afoot. It was why Lord Elrond took little delight in the stunning display of fighting arts, and why the young elf's compatriots - distinct amongst the spectators by their clothes - looked apprehensive even as their champion had the upper hand.

At least he did, until the two Rivendell elves finally did as Glorfindel felt they long should have - started coordinating their movements. What they did, however, surprised the warrior. The two swordsmen did not conduct a joint attack right away. They circled the young elf, gave him a wide berth, and fell deathly still and silent.

The wood-elf at the center froze too, and his head tilted and turned with every minute movement and sound. The silence seemed to unnerve him. He slapped a hand against his ear as if to ground himself, and it was all the distraction the two swordsmen needed. They pounced. The wood-elf dodged by luck and some miraculous acrobatic feat, but his foes knew now, what to do to get the better of him.

Again they circled him and backed away. Again came the stillness and oppressive silence. Again came the wood-elf's hand to his ear. His face - a very fair one, Glorfindel realized belatedly - crumpled to a mask of angry frustration. He growled, and the low, long sound of it was threatening, like a taut bow begging for release.

He stomped on the ground in front of him with his right leg, and tilted his head in thought. Whatever he found there, he lunged towards. The swordsman standing in that direction dodged, and with that dodge came movement and sound again, and the wood-elf trailed after him hungrily.

The wood-elf, Glorfindel realized, was listening and feeling for where his foes were standing in still silence.

The wood-elf was blind.

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The exercise ended when the swordsmen repeated their tactic and shot forward in unison. Two blades stopped a hairsbreadth from the wood-elf's neck. He returned the 'favor' more or less, with knives stretched out, resting over the hearts of his two assailants.

A stunned silence followed, which again unnerved the young wood-elf that his hand shot to his ear again, unintentionally cutting his wrist against one of the swords still pressed against his neck. He jerked away, and so did the Rivendell elf whose knife had cut him.

Elrond, his loyal Lindir, and some of the wood-elf's party shot forward. The others started asking the spectators to disperse, which they did reluctantly until all but a few elves remained in the courtyard. Glorfindel was, unsurprisingly, let to do whatever he wished. He walked leisurely toward where the fighters clustered.

"I am sorry, _hir-nin_!" exclaimed one of the swordsmen. "I should have pulled away sooner!"

The wood-elf shook off the sting from his hand. "The fault is mine," he assured the other, before pressing the cut to his full lips.

Elrond hissed at him disapprovingly. "That is not how I would do it, princeling."

Glorfindel's brows rose in realization. Oropher's house, indeed. This must be Thranduil's son. He'd heard of the Prince Legolas - a gifted archer, they said... but then, what had become of those eyes...?

Legolas sucked at the cut. It was shallow; he and the Rivendell warrior had pulled away from each other upon immediate contact. He removed his hand and licked at his reddened lips as he turned in the general direction of Elrond.

"I should hope not, my lord!" He smiled. It was devastating, but Elrond proved immune. The healer in him had sighted blood, and he came after it with a vengeance. He reached for Legolas' injury to examine it.

"All this fuss when it is good as new!" insisted one of the Mirkwood elves gruffly. It was a gigantic Silvan, who had a cruel sort of face but he sidled up close to his Prince, protectively and possessively.

"We will make sure he has it cleaned at the wards and keeps it that way, Lord Elrond," promised another of the Prince's party. This one was small and svelte, delicate and diplomatic - the complete foil of the one who had first spoken.

"And so you see my lord," Legolas said jovially, "Between Renior and Telion I am well looked after."

Elrond released his hand reluctantly. "You made a good showing at any rate. But perhaps my soldiers should have been more sporting. That they had used your weakness-"

"Is precisely what they should have done," Legolas finished. "It is better that I learn how to combat such wily foes in safety here, Lord Elrond, rather than out there. If you wish to apologize for not being fair, then perhaps you shouldn't have given me two to fight."

It was Elrond's turn to smile. "Ah, Legolas. If I was truly sporting I would have given you five."

"Darn straight!" exclaimed the giant Silvan, Renior.

"But you must curb that impulse of yours," Elrond added.

As if compelled, the Prince touched at his ear again with a wince. "I know, my lord. I suppose I just fear... losing them too. Silence is oppressive. But I am learning."

At Glorfindel's approach, they ceased speaking. Legolas surprised the Balrog slayer by looking him right in the eye.

"Lord Glorfindel!" breathed the younger elf. His reaction puzzled his company too.

"Can you see him, Legolas?" Renior asked hopefully.

"In a manner of speaking," cane the quiet, awed reply. He reached out for Glorfindel, and traced his long, deft fingers at the edges of the legendary warrior's golden hair, where some shorter strands came down to just below his shoulders. He pulled his hand away.

"I am sorry, my lord," he said. "But where many are a subtler presence, you all but burn in the dark!"

"Extraordinary," said Elrond, "that you should see what eyes cannot."

Legolas stared at Glorfindel hungrily, and kept staring. The legendary warrior, who was more or less subject to such treatment most everywhere he went, suffered it gladly for a wounded elf who had lost his sight, and was seeing something for the first time in a long time.

"Stop being odd before The Balrog Slayer, Legolas," Renior urged him in a uselessly low voice. "He might think us uncivilized!" He himself, however, could not help but stare.

Legolas averted his gaze, and Glorfindel was surprised at his own regret for the loss of it. The younger elf's eyes were a stunning shade of blue.

"I apologize." The Prince favored the golden warrior with a small bow. "I have the advantage of you, Lord Glorfindel. I knew it couldn't have been anyone else. But you do not know me."

"Ah but there you are mistaken." Glorfindel returned the bow. "I've come to expect great things from the Wood elves, and from its finest son most of all. You have not disappointed, Prince Legolas."

"But you should have seen how he was with a bow!" Renior bragged, obtusely. It was the "was" that caused much consternation. Elrond and Telion winced. For Legolas, a small but deep pain crossed his eyes, before he covered it with a smile.

"Perhaps he will one day," he said softly. "Excuse me. I will have this tended." He gave an ambiguous wave, indicating his injured hand and as a goodbye, before turning away.

His comrades trailed after him with polite murmurs to their host. Elrond and Glorfindel watched them go, clustered around their Prince whose stance was strong and steps were sure, even with his disability.

"Your newest stray is magnificent," Glorfindel said.

Elrond gave out a soft laugh. "Stray?"

"All these strange creatures finding their home here," Glorfindel said good-naturedly.

"He is magnificent," Elrond conceded, "but not so new. The years of your life have muddled with your sense of time again, old friend. You've not graced us in a while from all your journeys. In the meantime the Prince has been a frequent and beloved visitor these last few years. He has especially captured the heart of my children, who are certain to make their way here from wherever they are marauding as of late, as soon as word reaches them of Legolas' ailment. He is a captain in his father's army, but as occasional diplomat and messenger he has come to us often. He has been mostly the latter during his infirmity, to give him purpose without having to send him to the dangerous borders of their realm."

"What has befallen him?" Glorfindel asked, turning serious.

"The Elvenking wrote that Legolas had taken a terrible hit to the head during combat," Elrond replied. "Bad enough that his survival was uncertain for a time. He was unresponsive for a week, and so the vision impairment was unknown until he regained consciousness. There was bleeding and pressure building inside, relieved only by another procedure. But the damage has been done, and he has been without sight since waking half a year ago. He was sent here the moment he was strong enough for travel, in the hopes that we may be able to do something for him. And so he's been in Imladris these last two months, regaining strength every day."

"But not his vision," Glorfindel pointed out. "He is Firstborn. It cannot be permanent, can it? He must still be healing."

"I concur," said Elrond, "but the damage was considerable. He needs time. And until then, he is learning to live with it - and kill with it, as you have seen."

"A part of living where he is from," Glorfindel said gravely.

"Indeed," acknowledged Elrond. "I agree, and his own father concurred that he needed to do this, else we would never have allowed him into our training fields."

Glorfindel frowned in the direction which Legolas and his party of elves had gone. He had a flash of vision then, of a head of spun gold walking towards and unspeakable danger amongst a gaggle of fellows. "I think he might be a part of the larger scheme of things, Elrond."

"You've seen it?"

"I don't know that 'see' is the proper way to describe such things," Glorfindel said, "but I do believe it to be true, by some inexplicable sense. I do wonder however, why the gods would see it fit to give us..." he searched for kinder words but could not find any, "broken pieces with which to play, so to speak."

Elrond gave him a grim smile. "It wouldn't be the first time."

 _Broken swords... broken people_ , Glorfindel reflected. It was not untrue.

"I wonder if there is anything I might do to help improve his situation," said the ancient warrior. "Would he benefit from time training with me?"

"Who wouldn't?" said Elrond wryly, before adding more seriously, "but do not let his performance today lull you into the false belief that he is recovered save for his eyes. He is unwell. He gets debilitating headaches. And the occasional convulsions are devastating. The latter presents serious dangers, still. They depress his breathing and reviving him afterwards never gets any easier."

"What causes them?" Glorfindel asked, "Would working with me be to his detriment?"

"We do not know," Elrond replied. "In the meantime, it would do him good to know how to defend himself, if his condition should last longer than we hope. Train him, old friend, and do not go easy, for he will know. But do avoid any more hits to the head, be near aid at all times, be attentive to symptoms and most importantly - do not let him push himself too hard. He is... known to be difficult in that way."

Glorfindel nodded, and was already beginning to formulate a plan of approach. "Does he join evening meals?"

"Yes," Elrond replied.

"I shall accost him with a proposal then."

Elrond nodded, but seemed to hesitate.

"Anything else I should know?" Glorfindel asked.

"How do I put this delicately," the Lord of Imladris murmured. "Hm. Try and not make a conquest of this one if you can, my lord Glorfindel."

The ancient warrior let out a surprised, indignant laugh. "I had no intentions to, Lord Elrond."

"You never have intentions to and yet it still happens."

"I sometimes do have intentions," Glorfindel admitted lightly. "You've known me long enough and yet have seen it fit to address this issue with me only now. You still surprise, old friend."

"Legolas may be in his majority but he is young yet," said Elrond, "on top of being ill and Thranduil's son, besides. He was entrusted to our care for healing of his body and in failing that, at least his heart. Try and uh, not to break it, eh?"

"Now that," said Glorfindel, "I never mean to do."

"And yet it still happens at times, too."

Glorfindel winced. "As it does. But you have my word I will not toy with your wood-elf. If he should fall it will be his own doing."

Elrond sighed. "You are made too beautiful for everyone's good."

Glorfindel laughed. "And you are too kind."

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The elven prince was nowhere to be found in the dining halls for the evening meal, and neither were two of his loyal cadre, the giant one and the tiny one. Renior and Telion, Glorfindel remembered them being called.

The hall was abuzz with its usual activity, and Glorfindel found plenty of pleasant distractions until the end of the service. Many elves lingered for wine and conversation, but the elven prince never showed. His loyal, tiny Telion, however, discreetly entered the hall and spoke with a server, who promptly scurried off to prepare a tray of food. Glorfindel excused himself from two lieutenants who had engaged him in idle chatter and stood with Telion as he waited for what Glorfindel assumed would be the Prince's meal.

"Is your prince well, Telion?"

The smaller elf looked ready to jump out of his skin. "You remember me, my lord!"

"You are perceptive, loyal, and seem to have kindness," Glorfindel said, "I would never have forgotten."

Telion's face flushed. He shifted the topic away from himself. " _Hir-nin_ is well enough, resting in his rooms. But he forgets to eat sometimes."

"I have business with him," Glorfindel said. "I should like the pleasure of bringing him his meal and discussing it in private. You will stay here and partake of food for yourself."

"Oh, I musn't-!"

But Glorfindel would not be dissuaded, and all the years of his life and beyond had taught him how to get his way, most always.

"Be at leisure and return only when you are finished, loyal Telion." He started to take the tray from the server's hands. Telion sputtered and made a move to reach for it, but the server deferred to the more senior, legendary warrior elf. Glorfindel rewarded her with a devastating smile that almost had the entire tray swinging to the floor if not for the golden warrior's reflexes. Glorfindel then called for the lieutenants he had abandoned, who eagerly stepped forward.

"I implore you to share your genial company with my good friend Telion," he told them as he started to walk away. "Make sure he eats well, and that his heart finds joy in tales of your exploits."

Any 'good friend' of Glorfindel's immediately had gravitas in Rivendell, and the lieutenants swarmed Telion happily as the golden haired lord made his merry way out of the hall.

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Legolas' suite of rooms, Glorfindel found out from one of the guards, was a converted space next to the healing wards. Elrond had truly meant it when he said the prince was still ill, and his proximity to the healers was proof of that. Glorfindel suspected the separate quarters was both a concession to the Prince's rank, as well as a compromise that he be "released" from the wards. It was so very sensible and economical, he thought, so very Elrond.

The doors were guarded by two Mirkwood elves, who were so surprised to find the Balrog slayer bearing a tray of food for their Prince that they stepped aside, mouths agape, and let him through.

Thus he was able to catch Legolas unawares. The Prince was out on his balconies, wearing robes over loose bedclothes. He was barefoot and sitting on the ground, knees folded and embraced to his chest. His pale hair, loosely worn, shone in the moonlight. His angular face was raised to the heavens, unseeing glacial blue eyes wide open with naked longing.

The sight, inexplicably, made Glorfindel's heart stop. It reminded him of the beginning of time, of a wide world churning into shape and jolting to life, spun from the delicate hands of the gods. The firstborn, after all, woke beneath the unmarred stars. It was the first thing they ever saw.

"Are the stars really out tonight, Telion?" Legolas suddenly asked, sensing the new arrival.

"I am afraid you have to settle with lesser company tonight, young prince," Glorfindel found voice to say. The other elf jolted in surprise at his voice, and he turned to face the older warrior. It was unsettling, how Legolas' blind eyes again somehow found and settled squarely on Glorfindel's. He scrambled as if to stand.

"Please stay where you are," Glorfindel said quickly. Legolas did as he was bid, with some hesitation. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course!"

Glorfindel lowered the tray of food between them, and smiled when the other elf took a deep breath of the fragrant fare of warm breads and seemed to find his hunger, as well as his good humor. The sadness visibly faded from his eyes to breathtaking effect.

"The hospitality of this House is indeed unparalleled if the famed Balrog slayer himself is relegated to serving bread."

Glorfindel happily took the cue that levity was allowed. "You are being presumptuous. Perhaps this is for me, and not for you."

The Prince smiled, and irreverently picked a piece of bread from the tray. He chewed on it thoughtfully.

"It takes manipulation of rare quality to wrest Telion from his self-imposed duties to me," he said.

"One amongst my many talents," Glorfindel said, smoothly seguing into his purpose here. "I've seen you fight. I think there is much we can learn from each other."

Legolas chuckled quietly. "You are being kind. I doubt there is much you do not know about a great many things, my lord."

Glorfindel shrugged. "You might be surprised. So. If you are interested, I train early, daily and long."

"So do I," said the other boldly. "I think it would be interesting to cross swords with you."

"Tomorrow then?"

"I look forward to it."

Glorfindel hesitated. "Are there uh, any specific accommodations you might require-" He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

"I should think not," the wood-elf snapped. "Do you require special accommodations?"

"I?" Glorfindel asked, confused.

"Given your old age I thought perhaps you require rest so soon after your travels."

Glorfindel couldn't help but laugh. "You, whelp, shall pay for your audacity tomorrow."

"I am counting on you trying, my lord," Legolas said with grim satisfaction as Glorfindel rose to his feet.

"I will leave you to your dinner."

Legolas reached for him, and caught the end of his robe. "I do thank you for the meal, Lord Glorfindel. And for your interest in my betterment, I am eternally grateful."

"I still won't take it easy on you. Do not to be late."

Legolas laughed, and the sound was beautiful and musical.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Taking Flight

**"These Visions of You"**

 _When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf._

 **hi guys!**

um so I think I said something about having the discipline to pace my posts to once a week, just two days ago...? I guess that got scraped, lol. Thank you so much kind reviewers Aqua Fortis, arisucci, cheetahluke ( _you raised a valid point on posting a new chapter sooner!),_ Elvenprincessarcher, Hawaiichick, Jaya Avendel, Lord of the Gauntlets, and Starfox500 for the inspiration! Will be sending out personalized responses soon, but i thought i should thank you with an update. As usual, comments and constructive criticism are ever welcome. Hope you all have fun reading, and I wish you all a lovely weekend!

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 **2: Taking Flight**

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Glorfindel knew where to start.

He arranged to have a small field emptied for the day's exercise, and brought along a few things he felt he and Legolas could use. He raided the kitchens for bags of flour, and drafted some eager, early-rising elflings into service, asking them to divide the flour into smaller sacks. Elrond's house, he thought, would have to be a few loaves of bread short today.

When the Prince arrived at first light, he and two of his soldiers - Renior and Telion again - were dressed in full battle regalia and they made a threatening sight, coming up a small incline to where Glorfindel waited. They were in scarred but shining and well-kept scale armor and fully weapons-ready. It was, after all, not much good to train without what one usually wore into battle. Many soldierly movements were faster by instinct and muscle memory, so they had to know how to move in the weight they usually carried.

Glorfindel for one, was grateful Legolas' bow and quiver were on his person, even if he was theoretically ill-positioned to use them. But this was precisely where Glorfindel intended to start; if Legolas could find successful use of a bow - as the warrior suspected the Prince would - it might unleash a confidence of action that could create the best start for the work they were doing.

"Good morning, Prince Legolas," he greeted jovially.

The Prince gave him a bow, though from his stern expression his day had so far been unpleasant.

"My escorts would not be left behind, my lord," Legolas said. "I hope you have the patience for three wood-elves."

"We are expressly instructed to your care, _hir-nin_!" protested Telion.

"We can hardly be expected to pass upon an opportunity to work with The Balrog Slayer!" said Renior at the same time. Glorfindel could well hear the title capitalizations in the giant Silvan's proclamation.

"Worry not, Prince Legolas," Glorfindel said easily. "I expected you to have escorts and we do have need of sparring partners. Not to mention companions for a few other uses."

He picked up one of the small sacks of flour he had prepared and transported there. He tossed and caught it in his hands, and Legolas tilted his head as he contemplated its sound. It slapped against Glorfindel's palm dully.

"Do you hear this, Prince Legolas?" Glorfindel asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"'Glorfindel' will do," he told the younger elf in passing.

"As would 'Legolas,'" the other returned.

"I expect you to follow the sound," Glorfindel instructed him, "and shoot where it lands, archer."

The younger elf shook his head. "If the shot goes wide I can hit someone. If I follow the wrong sound it can be lethal. There are too many things that can go wrong."

"The field is clear and ours," Glorfindel promised. "I've made arrangements."

"I can really hurt someone."

This was what Glorfindel wanted to combat from the beginning, any sense of self-doubt. He'd heard of Thranduilion in his travels and he wanted to see him unleashed. Yesterday's display with the knives was but a taste of what he was capable of, if the stories hold true, and seeing him with a bow could unlock the rest of him.

"Trust me, Legolas."

The younger elf took a deep breath, and nodded. He drew out his bow, and reached for a shaft from his full quiver. He ran his fingers along its length, as in a revered greeting. He had been blind for six months, and had kept himself from his weapon of choice for that same length of time. Glorfindel wondered at the last time he had shot at something, and at how many times since he lost his sight that he must have held his beloved weapons with the longing he displayed now.

"It's been too long," Legolas said softly, thinking along the same lines.

"Prepare yourself," Glorfindel said. He tossed the small sack of flour up into the air in a wide arc. It landed a few meters in front of them.

Legolas listened, aimed, blinked in hesitation, and shot. They all held their breaths.

The arrow was not true. It hit the ground with a twang a few paces away from where the target landed.

All four elves released their breaths. Even Legolas knew he did not hit it. The miss was a disappointment, and Glorfindel watched the emotions warring on the Mirkwood Prince's face.

There was crushing disappointment, a complex anger that he was pressed into an activity where his disability was proven, and something else. A spark that was fighting to stay alive.

"I would like to try again," he said quietly, but determinedly.

Glorfindel grinned. He picked up another sack, and Legolas opened his palm out toward it. The older elf handed it over and the prince played with it in his hands and pressed it close to his ear. He rubbed at the sack and listened to the grains grinding together. Legolas tossed it back at Glorfindel, who caught it cleanly.

"I'm ready."

"You've not set your bow," Glorfindel pointed out.

"I'm ready."

Glorfindel shook his head in amusement, but let the younger elf dictate the terms for this second effort. He tossed the bag of flour high in another wide arc. In moments Legolas had a shaft aimed and his target set. He did not even wait for the sack to smack to the ground. He released, and hit his target mid-air.

Renior and Telion whooped in unabashed joy and started clasping Legolas on the back. Renior then started a jig and dragged the comparatively tiny Telion along with him as he sang, rather poorly, a popular lively tune.

Legolas laughed, and his eyes shone in unshed tears turned into sparkling diamonds by the sunlight. He fixed them on Glorfindel as he mouthed, "Thank you."

It hit him like a bolt of lightning, but he managed to say after the barest of a missed beat, "Don't thank me yet. Let's get to work."

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He meant it too.

They filled the day with similar archery drills, Legolas gaining more and more confidence with each successful volley. He missed some shots but made most. Elrond's household ran fewer and fewer breads throughout the day's meals until even Glorfindel was chastised by the bakers. By the time supper needed to be prepared, even he couldn't charm or legend his way out of their displeasure and Lord Elrond laughingly restored peace to his House by relegating the four soldiers to the use of sand next time.

They stopped only for small periods for rest, water and meals, and concluded the day after the sun set. Legolas wanted to do more, but Glorfindel could see signs of weariness in his slower movements and testier temperament.

"Legolas come on, I cannot go on!" Renior moaned, rubbing at his throwing arm. Suffice to say his eagerness at training with 'The Balrog Slayer' has waned since Glorfindel used Renior's considerable strength to keep throwing Legolas' moving targets all day.

"There will be a tomorrow," Glorfindel told Legolas mildly, and added a tease to soften their conclusion, "not all of us are gifted with maneuvering in the dark."

The elf prince was restless, but nodded in acquiescence.

"The stars will be out soon," Telion added, which softened his prince's dismay further.

Glorfindel looked at Legolas is puzzlement, and recalled his fixation on the heavens from the night before. What a blind elf finds in looking up at the stars was a mystery he would have to inquire of another day, however, as they concluded their exercises and retired to their respective rooms in preparation for the evening meal.

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Their days unfolded thus –

Mornings practicing archery to invigorate the prince were followed by exercises on hand combat and then sword and knife, each phase broken by periods of rest and sustenance. They would conclude their affairs at the setting of the sun to prepare for the evening meal.

The daily training would be broken on occasion by other duties. Glorfindel was often called to counsel or a particularly challenging patrol, while Legolas had the sporadic missive from his father that needed prompt handling. But they crafted a program of habits and drafted a collection of sparring substitutes they could call upon, so that the absence of the other wouldn't preclude whoever remained from training.

On one morning however, Glorfindel left word he would be unavailable indefinitely. He and a party of Rivendell elves had been sent by Elrond on an errand dealing with a pack of orcs hovering the paths toward the Last Homely House.

Legolas received the news with angry, impotent frustration at the disability that prevented him from being useful to the fight, and in fear for the soldiers of the House that had sheltered him and treated him so kindly. He feared especially for the ancient warrior who had taken him under his wing.

Legolas spent the time continuing with his own exercises, drafting Renior and Telion, his other guards and whoever of Rivendell he could dragoon into sparring, going down the list of substitutes Glorfindel had arranged. Legolas bested most of them, but that only seemed to anger him more.

"What use are these skills if I will anyways be kept from fighting?" he had growled more than once. He seldom indulged his princely temper, but it was out in force in the days of Glorfindel's absence.

When the warrior of Gondolin returned along with all the members of their victorious hunting party, it was in the final hour of daylight days later. He had with him a sack of spoils, which stank of orc but he held aloft with a smirking pride as he sought out the Prince of Mirkwood.

He was directed to the training fields, where he found Legolas concluding his day. The elven prince sensed his arrival right away, and stalked in his direction to meet him halfway. Legolas stopped an arm away from the older elf.

His blind eyes settled on Glorfindel's again, but Glorfindel had come to expect it by now. They looked at him searchingly however, which made the older warrior's heart ache.

"I am unharmed, princeling," he assured him.

Relief flooded Legolas' face, but he promptly schooled it into an expression of casual calm.

"You're late."

Glordindel laughed. "And you're impertinent." He surprised them both by chucking the other elf playfully about the chin, but he caught himself and masked it cleanly by declaring, "My welcome is so poor, when I have brought you spoils."

"Is that what I'm smelling?" Legolas asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Brace yourself to smell them some more, Legolas," said Glorfindel jovially. He jangled the heavy, clanking contents of his sack. "I was in a position to collect for you some orc armor, generously musked, and most certainly bloodstained. A macabre offering, yes, but by the time we are through working on these, no elf would have a finer sense of the sound of their armor and the scent of their bodies than you."

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They made good use of the orc armor. Glorfindel would conceal them and have Legolas search and shoot them. Renior got his arms' worth of throwing them too, for Legolas to aim at. The training was progressing well.

Elrond had warned him not to be lulled in the false belief that the Prince of Mirkwood was well save for his eyes, but it was so easy to slip into complacency, because all Legolas ever displayed was determination and strength.

 _I've been warned_ , Glorfindel thought, on that day when the painful reminder finally came, of Legolas' continuing struggles. Glorfindel had indeed been warned, but it still squeezed at his heart.

The elven prince and his usual companions did not appear with the rising of the sun, and Glorfindel knew immediately that something was amiss.

He stalked from the fields, determined to check in on his protégé in his rooms, but found Legolas' party on the paths leading to the fields of their usual training regime. What he saw stole his breath and sent him running forward.

The prince was lying on his side on the ground, in the throes of a convulsion. His body was taut from his head to his feet, locked in a battle with itself. His knees knocked and turned toward each other, bending his feet and legs at an unnatural angle. His arms were folded at the elbows and locked there. His hands were in tightly curled fists folded inward at the wrists. His head was lowered, chin to his chest, and his eyes were rolled up to whites. He shook violently, and made small, disconcerting grunts as his body moved beyond all his awareness and control.

He was... depersonalized, Glorfindel thought with horrifying realization. For an elf who had almost feline, incessantly self-possessed movements, whose body and emotions were always in careful control, the seizure was an affront, almost a brutalization.

Telion was with Legolas, jaws set tight in determination as he gathered blankets and towels around the ailing prince's head. It was clear from his schooled expression that they've done this before. In the near distance, Glorfindel could see Renior running for help.

"What can I do?" Glorfindel asked, kneeling on Legolas' other side. Telion startled at his arrival, so focused was he on the prince.

"For now we wait," came the tight reply. "And keep him from hitting things."

Glorfindel nodded, and watched as helplessly as Telion did. It felt like hours.

"He cannot breathe like this," Telion hissed. "Come on Legolas, stop now for the love of the gods!"

Glorfindel, alarmed, watched as the convulsions continued even as the prince's lips were turning blue. Finally they stopped, and even as Legolas' limbs were still loosening, Telion started getting busy. He shifted Legolas to lie flat on his back.

"Lower his hands to his sides and open his tunic at the chest," he then ordered Glorfindel, while he himself held Legolas' head gently in his hands and positioned it with chin tilted up to clear his airways.

Glorfindel struggled with the various warrior's straps that Legolas had on, but managed to do as instructed. He watched as Telion opened Legolas' slack mouth and listened for breath. Glorfindel knew there was none when Telion lowered his ear closer.

Glorfindel had some healing knowledge of his own and employed them promptly. He grabbed one of Legolas' wrists, where there was a gentle pulse. He kept a hold on it, but fisted one hand and started rubbing it on Legolas' exposed chest. Telion was apparently about to do the same, but settled on calling upon his prince when he saw Glorfindel sufficiently on the task.

"Breathe, _hir-nin_ ," he urged, "come on, now. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe." Every word was said with escalating alarm the longer his charge proved unresponsive.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and pressed Legolas' hand over his own chest, so that the other elf may feel its rise and fall. In his mind's eye, he could see their souls. Here they were physical matter, they could touch and be touched. He reached for Legolas, and his _fea_ brushed the other's.

"Legolas," Glorfindel said sternly. He knew not if he said it aloud in the physical world as well, or only in that of the separate plane where souls dwelt.

"Legolas. Breathe, Thranduilion. For the Earth that needs you, and for those that love you. Breathe..."

He did. A small gasp compelled Glorfindel to open his eyes, and he saw Telion deflate in profound relief. As Legolas' breaths became more even, Telion busied himself with pillowing his head in a folded towel, and using a cloak to blanket him.

"The fits leave him exhausted and cold," he explained softly.

"Perhaps a prompt transfer to a warm bed would do him a world of good," Glorfindel murmured and not waiting for a reply, he gathered the younger elf into his arms and hoisted him up. Telion rose too, and fixed the blankets around the lightly shivering prince.

Legolas stirred awake at the movement, and his vacant eyes skimmed past Telion in front of him, up the firm chest he was encased against, and then drifted to where he found Glorfindel's gaze looking down upon him.

He murmured something the older elf did not understand, before his eyes drifted shut and he fell back into weary slumber.

Telion was more versed in Legolas' disoriented ramblings. He scoffed at the words and said to Glorfindel, "He says he will be good as new tomorrow." He sighed and fussed with Legolas' blanket again. "He wouldn't have wanted you to see that, but here we all are."

Glorfindel wasn't fully sure what it meant, but with a nod signifying readiness, he held Legolas close to his chest and started to bear him away. They were met along the path by a cadre of concerned Mirkwood elves, two Rivendell healers and Renior, who almost aggressively tried to wrest the prince from Glorfindel's resisting arms.

"He's breathing, mellon-nin," Telion assured him quickly. The giant Silvan received the news with a curt nod.

"We will care for him now," he told the Balrog slayer sternly, all awe for the legendary warrior gone now, decisively superseded by his devotion to Legolas. But Glorfindel was loathe to yield the burden.

"We will care for him now," Renior said again, breaking the trance. He took Legolas from Glorfindel's slack arms then, and the group of them spirited him away.

The golden-haired warrior felt... bereft... as he watched them go. He stood in between field and hall, suddenly empty, suddenly alone. He looked at his hands and was surprised, after all he had seen in life and beyond, that they should still shake from an incident like this. It was beyond his understanding, but something about the young wood-elf's situation had touched at his heart.

He gathered himself, and looked behind him at the mess they had left. There were abandoned weapons and packs, and things strewn on the ground, likely from Telion and Renior seeking towels and blankets for their Prince when his symptoms started. Glorfindel walked toward the abandoned things, and his eyes settled on Legolas' beloved bow. It looked forlorn.

He went to his knees on the ground and picked it up.

He picked up everything.

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 _"He wouldn't have wanted you to see that,"_ Telion had said, and Glorfindel quickly realized what it meant when he attempted to visit the prince but found his doors shut and well-guarded from everyone, save for a handful of soldiers and the healers of Rivendell assigned to his care.

The Mirkwood elves, Glorfindel gathered, took care of their prince's physical well-being as well as his dignity. Glorfindel let them have the space they needed, and sought solace elsewhere. He briefly considered the companionship of a lover - there were plenty of choices here - but thought it could be more trouble than it was worth.

He drifted to the libraries, where histories of Arda, many of them he had witnessed, were painted on the walls. He studiously skipped the panel that featured his infamous fatal battle.

It was here that Elrond found him hours later. The Lord of Imladris walked up behind him.

"I did not comprehend completely," said Glorfindel. "When you spoke of his health. It never dawned on me that the condition of Legolas was so dire."

Elrond took a deep breath. "But your sense that the gods have greater plans for him fill me with hope." Glorfindel closed his eyes and let the same thought comfort him. He had seen it, hadn't he? Of a golden head walking amongst a group of fellows? But senses were no guarantee and they both knew it.

"How is he?" Glorfindel asked instead.

"Tired mostly," Elrond replied, "well enough to be embarrassed, at least. He despises the unavoidable spectacle of his fits, and is especially displeased you witnessed such an episode." He rolled his eyes at Glorfindel's confused expression. "Come now, Balrog slayer. Legolas' princely status and his own achievements aside, he is still a young soldier eager to impress an ancient renowned warrior. No one is immune to you."

Glorfindel grimaced. "' _Ancient_?'"

Elrond laughed quietly. "Old friend. Prepare yourself for an overeager protégé tomorrow. He will try and compensate for what he believes is the weakness you had witnessed. And when the prince has his heart set on overachievement... well let us say he is of Oropher's house and is unquestionably Thranduil's son. They can be... unforgiving, even and perhaps especially of themselves. He will be relentless."

"Is he even well enough to return to training so soon?"

"Oh believe me, he will be."

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Legolas was in their designated training grounds well before Glorfindel and from the look of things, in escape from his own soldiers. He was outfitted for war and already on his white knives. He turned to the newly arrived warrior with glacial eyes.

"You're early," Glorfindel noted, shedding the packs he had brought with him as their day's supplies, already knowing by how Legolas looked that he was spoiling for a fight. If this was how the Mirkwood elf wanted to cope after yesterday's unfortunate incident, Glorfindel was willing to indulge him - for now. He readied his own sword, and lowered himself to a fighting stance.

"Not even a 'good morning?'" Glorfindel teased.

"Good morning," Legolas said curtly as he made the first move and struck. Their blades met, and they pressed against each other before using the pressure to push back and jump away. The two warriors walked around each other warily, before engaging again.

They were a surprisingly even match, for the wrong reasons. Legolas was handicapped by his anger and blindness, but Glorfinfel was handicapped by what he had seen of the day before. It was not... the best of either of them.

"Do not treat me like an invalid!" Legolas demanded as he swung, sensing how the other elf restrained himself.

"And do not regard me as if I were heartless!" Glorfindel retorted, finding frustrations of his own because the other elf was being reckless and could hurt both of them because Glorfindel refused to take advantage. "Do not ask that of me!"

Legolas growled, and the match went on in wide angry swings and frantic defenses. But Glorfindel has had enough. He let himself be disarmed by Legolas, and then stepped back with a wary stance, hoping they were done.

The Mirkwood elf was far from finished. Glorfindel's voluntary disarming angered him, and he threw aside his knives and attacked Glorfindel with bare hands. The legendary warrior, caught off-guard, took the hit full on, until they were rolling on the ground by the force of Legolas' attack. By skill and considerable luck did Glorfindel find himself blessed with the upper hand, and he straddled the other elf tightly. He freed a dagger from his boot and kissed the barest of its sharp, cold edge to Legolas' cheek. The wood-elf hissed.

"Listen close, Thranduilion," Glorfindel snapped. He was out of patience, but not compassion. "You have nothing to prove to me. Nothing, do you understand? From what you endure so gracefully, you are the strongest person that I know."

Legolas looked up at him defiantly. "A likely story!" he spat out dispassionately, but his squirming resistance became half-hearted.

"All right fine," Glorfindel said, "perhaps not so gracefully, as this awful display has proven."

Legolas' chest bubbled in a surprised laugh, which he restrained futilely. Glorfindel clung to that ray of good, even if macabre, humor.

"Is this how you talk things through in your kingdom, princeling?" he teased. "I would need a translator when I visit."

"I should think not," Legolas said, raising a slow, wary arm up to indicate the knife against his face. "You already have a firm grasp of the language."

Glorfindel laughed.

"Release me," Legolas said quietly after a long moment. Glorfindel was going to tease him and ask for 'please,' but he sounded chastised enough and the warrior of Gondolin had a feeling this was as much as he was going to get. He did as requested, and the two elven warriors lay side by side, regaining their breaths and their composure.

"I think I made a worse spectacle of myself today than yesterday," Legolas said. "I apologize. Sometimes I do not understand myself."

"You will heal, Legolas," Glorfindel promised him. "One way or another."

"Either by my broken eyes or my acceptance of them you mean," the other said softly.

Glorfindel shrugged. "There are plans for you."

"Is that all you can say?" Legolas asked with weary exasperation. "It is so hard to find greater meaning in things like this. My people are dying. My skills are needed. Yet I am here, depriving them of my abilities and those of the likes of Telion and Renior and perhaps even yourself, who by some compulsion, find the need to waste their time on me. Is that really all you can say?"

"It is all I know to say."

The younger elf threw up his hands. "You speak like a wizard!"

"I was sent back for a task, Legolas," Glorfindel replied quietly, "but even I cannot know the precise plans of the gods. It would take the common mind I think, because there is a path set for every strand of hair, seed, petal, pollen or speck of dust. Our kin cannot conceive it, that kind of design, that kind of attention, that kind of... love. I can only see shadows, feel snatches of things, and I do with it what I can."

"So what do you see for me?"

Glorfindel looked up at the skies, and conjured up some of the visions the gods have seen fit to equip him with for his renewed purpose on the Earth. "I see a head of gold - "

Legolas laughed. "That could be a great many other people, my lord. It could even be you."

"I've seen your bow," Glorfindel continued, "and in these visions, I feel your heart."

Glorfindel heard the rustle of clothing against grass as Legolas turned to face him. Strands of both their golden hair had caught, lost and twined in each other. Their heads of hair were subtly different, but with each one a type of gold with depth and nuance, one had to look closely to tell them apart, especially as tangled as they were. Glorfindel felt a small pull on his head with the other elf's movement. He kept looking up at the skies, however; their heads were too close together, and to turn to face Legolas now was too much intimacy.

"And what, pray tell, does the Lord Glorfindel know of this heart of mine?"

He was being taunted.

Glorfindel never was one to back down. Not from creatures of fire, and certainly not from particularly fiery upstarts like this young wood-elf. He'd lived too long and too hard, and had never shied away from fighting or from... whatever this was. The princeling was trying to be clever, perhaps even coquettish. Glorfindel did not live all these years just to be toyed with. This wood-elf country cousin will learn, never to dare a courtlier elf with games of words and flirtations either faux or real. The ancient warrior turned to the young archer, then.

"It is clear to me you have great gifts, Legolas. But more than that you have a love for this Earth and the people in it. You have a generous heart of light and song. You know how to find and share joy. Your people love you for it. Time on you is not a waste. It is both a pleasure, and a small part to play in the great things meant for you."

Legolas smiled. "I think you mean to embarrass me."

"That does not make it any less true."

"It didn't work," Legolas said. His eyes were dancing with an entrancing, mischievous light. They were so close that small beats of his warm breath played with Glorfindel's cheek as he spoke.

"First," said the wood-elf, "because I have heard all manner of embarrassing proclamations before, some of them attached to shall we say, far baser propositions. I grew up in a King's court, and have been in many others; I can handle myself. Or perhaps it is only because I cannot see your reportedly beautiful face. Small mercies," he said with sham gravity, "Thus, your effect is diminished."

"Diminished?" Glorfindel mocked offense. "Really now, princeling, you do not know the half of it. I can charm in the pitch dark."

"I'm sure," Legolas said magnanimously. After a long moment of thought, he sighed and turned away from Glorfindel and looked up at the skies. Again, the departure of his gaze proved unwelcome to the older warrior.

"I cannot imagine of what you speak," he said softly, "all these greater plans and gifts for the purpose of them. Mostly I feel... sometimes... I wonder if I am dying." He shook his head in dismay at himself. "I do not mean to trivialize death or exaggerate my disability to equate it. Especially not with you, who've known first hand. That perspective should be harder won. I am sorry for indulging in this undeserved line of thought."

"Don't be."

"So was death like that? To lose the senses? When I woke and realized my sight was lost, I found myself clinging desperately to all I had left."

"It's why you reach for your ears when there is silence," Glorfindel realized - as he eschewed answering the other elf's questions about what his particular death was like. It was Legolas' turn to indulge him and thus did not press. Instead, he conceded,

"They remind me I'm still in this world and not some black, empty void."

"In the meantime you show a weakness to your enemies."

"I will remedy it," Legolas said, "or perhaps you will, my lord."

"When we finally get to work," Glorfindel said wryly. "So. Have you released your frustrations with satisfaction? May we please continue according to our program of action?"

Legolas' response was cut short by the huffing approach of Renior and Telion. The two golden elves watched them approach, looking a lot alike from a distance.

"Ah, the rescue team is it?" said Glorfindel. "I'm glad I didn't harm you, your highness. The tiny one terrifies me."

Legolas laughed openly, then. It was like the sound of birds taking to the skies. Glorfindel felt his heart ride those flapping wings and flutter with them...

... a beat before he reined in himself at the sense of danger of that. _One can fall brutally from such heights_. The teases and sighs faded from his lips, and he felt himself scowling in displeasure.

He had promised Elrond he would not make a conquest of this one, but in afterthought, he wondered if he should have been offended rather than flattered at the implications of that. Why would the Lord of Imladris believe he would be the one to break hearts, rather than be the one to emerge broken? He might not be making a conquest of Legolas, but the same rules did not seem to apply to the elf prince to exercise the same restraint. This was going to be far more difficult than he first thought.

He reined in his heart. But there was... a certain violence... to pulling back something in earnest flight. A momentum that pushes back, like a wild horse bucking and rearing against restraint. It was how this nascent affection stated turning into simmering anger.

"My lord, are you all right?" Telion asked breathlessly when they arrived.

Legolas favored him with an indulgent smile. "Yes. Lord Glorfindel and I were just –"

"Let's get to work," the ancient warrior snapped, rising abruptly to his feet.

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**


	3. A Warrior Disarmed

**"These Visions of You"**

 _When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf._

 **hi guys!**

Thanks to all who read, followed, favorited and especially all who reviewed! Personalized messages soon. In the meantime... So I promised weekly updates and I managed to wait 6 days \- that's not so bad, is it? An improvement from the last time, at least, and I almost got to seven :) This fic is almost done, but I am now doing 5 chapters instead of 4, on top of my usual Afterword, which may or may not include a preview of the next project or a bonus story :). _These Visions of You_ has become a surprisingly larger beast! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. s always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. Feed the hungry writer and drop me a note, no matter how small if you can ;) Happy weekend, everyone!

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 **3: A Warrior Disarmed**

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Their days unfolded thus...

... Mornings practicing archery. Exercises on hand combat and then sword and knife. Brief periods of rest and meals...

 _Very_ brief.

Glorfindel made a stern and efficient taskmaster when determined to do little else but work. They would conclude their affairs long before the setting of the sun, for Legolas was a quick study to begin with but especially so when he was trying to impress someone.

Glorfindel was generous with praise (the single-minded, earnest wood-elf prince made it impossible not to be), but he was just as generous with keeping a careful distance. He made a conscious effort of treating Legolas pleasantly enough, but only because it was more trouble than it was worth if he were irked all the time. He would have had to answer questions, then. As it was, Legolas sometimes looked puzzled at the subtle change in the tone of their friendship and seemed on the verge of asking questions that Glorfindel did not want to address. And so he let a smoky, thready, elusive ambiguity fall between them, which turned awkward when not filled with training and work.

When their daily regime ended, they would part to prepare for the evening meal. There they avoided each other studiously and indulged in the company of others. In the instances that they couldn't, they acknowledged each other respectfully, but only sparingly.

The habits were broken by other duties... which Glorfindel took more of, greedily, until he saw Legolas on the training fields less and less. At least Legolas always had his pick of sparring partners, and easily gathered not only willing combatants among the collection of substitutes Glorfindel had previously arranged, but deepening friendships (and admirers, from the seasoned warrior's cynical, knowing eye).

Thus did Glorfindel drift away and Legolas, for reasons all his own, let him. It was both a relief and a frustration. Glorfindel had stepped away from the possibilities presented by the beguiling prince, due to the word he had given to Elrond but also because it was the right thing to do ( _wasn't it?_ ). But if Legolas felt even the mildest interest in him too - neither of them were fools after all - why did he let Glorfindel walk away from it all?

So perhaps he didn't feel as Glorfindel felt, the ancient lord decided. Perhaps he was disinterested. Legolas certainly gathered admirers easily enough. And they both had more immediate problems, besides.

 _Perhaps._

 _Perhaps..._

 _...Perhaps you're too old for this nonsense_ , he berated himself. After everything he'd been and been through, one would think it were trivial but really, didn't attractions power everything? Love inspired songs and novels and acts that all but moved mountains and accomplished the impossible. Love was everything. The very making of the world was from the love of the gods.

 _Except who in all of Arda started talking about love?_

Glorfindel railed against the futility of these unproductive trains of thought. He wanted to be emotionally distant from the Prince of Mirkwood and having gotten exactly that, it should be enough.

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Glorfindel was not sure what bound him to his restraint.

It had been such a long time since he second-guessed himself that he couldn't even recall if it was in this lifetime or another.

He often found himself wishing he _could?would?_ change his mind about the pursuit of the Thranduilion, but especially painfully so, during one night of feasting in the Hall of Fire.

Elrond indulged his people with such fanciful dinners once in a while and the evening was made exceptional by the lively presence of Thranduil's people among them. Songs were sung and stories told; they were such good storytellers, these people of the mysterious woods living beneath a creeping, malevolent shadow. Their earthy words and resonant voices carried all the danger and steely determination of that rugged life. The only thing they were better at was partaking of drinks aplenty. The wood-elves knew their wines.

Along the course of the night, their beloved, half-drunken prince was goaded into song. He was surprisingly comfortable with this brand of attention but in afterthought, Glorfindel should have expected it. After all, Legolas did as he had claimed, grow up in a King's court. He laid pained words against a simple melody:

" _There is silence here,_

 _when once there were voices fearless, clear_

 _Of song and rhyme_

 _and love and life beyond time._

" _In this void a defiant cry remains,_

 _its existence bolsters and pains_

 _A terrible hope_

 _But over chasms I hold by this fragile rope._

" _Let the winds of fall not take_

 _this last leaf of summer though it may tremble and shake._

 _Let faith stay and stand throughout the winter cold,_

 _A mark of spring, a promise told –_

" _Dark now though home may seem,_

 _In my heart and by my blood it will remain evergreen_."

The room was silent when Legolas paused. The song was heavy with yearning for his forests, so apparent with intention in his voice, but unintentionally naked in the unseeing eyes that had already paid the price of that well-sung blood promise.

 _In my heart and by my blood..._

 _... it will remain evergreen._

But the prince, by habit of mischief, deflection of mild embarrassment, or some other inexplicable sense of duty, apparently refused to let his touching melancholy end the night on such a note. His gaze sharpened and glinted in herald of the gallows humor Glorfindel had come to seek (and lately, miss). And so with equal seriousness infused now with quiet, self-aware mockery, he finished his song:

" _But before you come collect my weary soul -_

 _sate my belly, fill my goblet and good gods please do not forget my bowl!_

 _Until the day my debt is paid,_

 _upon my lap settle a pleasant, comely maid_

 _And all the way to the very end,_

 _through bad songs and worse poetry may I always have as many friends_."

He courted a chorus of bawdy laughter and cheers, made louder when he ended his performance with a gaudy, drunken, courtly bow. He alarmed half the room when he swayed dangerously, but caught himself with a laughing flourish. His comrades and friends cheered – and of course toasted – his recovery, though an enterprising Noldo or two still shot forward with "helpful" steadying hands to his arms and shoulders.

Glorfindel scowled in displeasure at himself, for he had jolted forward and was almost one of the poor fools.

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Still, it drove Glorfindel to distraction all the sleepless night and early into the fields he and Legolas usually accosted for themselves the very next morning.

He had no other engagements until the afternoon, he told himself, and he had been too lax in training. The exercise would do him a world of good.

He did, however, take his time walking there. He wanted to give fate a chance to change his mind... perhaps he would be waylaid on his walk by a more comprehensible distraction than the pitfalls of a _failed?failing?unrealized?_ ( _love_?) affair.

Before he reached their usual spot, a grassy expanse sitting on a slight incline, the sound of skillfully soft, lightly padding feet running at a mad pace teased at his ears. He started running toward the sound by instinct, and thus did he and Telion, soldier of Mirkwood, meet each other.

The slight elf, who looked as if he had been running some distance from the grime and... blood... on his clothes, was neither winded nor sweating, however.

"My lord!" he exclaimed as they pulled to a stop before each other.

 _Where is Legolas?_ Glorfindel longed to ask, but by age old habit he said instead, "Report."

Telion was just as much of a soldier, driven by instinct into a quick response. "We were training near the waters northeast of here. The prince thought to learn how to fight even with a cacophony of distracting sound, obscured by the falls. A young human child was washed in by the current, battered but alive. She said she escaped an orc raiding party collecting slaves amongst men in the settlements and roads of the region. She said they were further upriver from us and that they were holding more children."

Glorfindel's jaws set at the horrifying news, but also at the implications of it. If Legolas had been there and heard... He could no longer contain his hungriest question. "Legolas?"

Telion winced. "I was the fastest runner, he sent me for reinforcements. He... moved forward with the others."

Glorfindel couldn't keep his eyes from lifting up to the skies in consternation as Telion continued.

"He could smell and hear them, my lord," Telion said. "His other senses have sharpened. He could track them as no one else of the rest of us could. Renior is with him, and three of your soldiers. The child we left behind in safety. She said the raiding party was small, no more than a dozen. If the prince were in perfect health the five of them would have been more than enough to subdue the filth."

"Go on and bring us more soldiers," Glorfindel told him urgently, as he started to divest himself of unnecessary packs, deciding he would leave only his weapons and medical supplies on his person so that he could move faster. "Run like the wind, _mellon_. I will retrieve your prince."

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Glorfindel followed the general directions offered by Telion, and along the way, he ran past Legolas and his company's own abandoned supplies on the riverbanks, where a young elf maiden also sat waiting, shaking, huddled in blankets. She gaped at him before pointing in the direction his comrades had headed toward.

Once in the deeper woods, he noticed the elves had left deliberate tracks of where they went, and he was relieved at the presence of mind of whoever had thought of that. The marks allowed him to move faster into the thick of the trees, until they were a blur of browns and greens.

Eventually he no longer needed the marks to know where to go. He heard the lethargic sounds of the tail end of combat – half-hearted, heavy swings of weaponry, the finality and decisive chop of a death blow. Gurgling gasps of the dying, and the survivors catching their breaths with some of them, especially when there are innocents among them, remembering to cry.

He found Legolas at the edges of the fighting, twin white knives raised, a gaggle of ragged human children on his back and three orcs dead at his feet, but one more on a cautious approach. Near him, Renior and a couple of Rivendell elves were dealing with their own foes.

Glorfindel did not hesitate. He strode forward towards Legolas' last assailant and dispatched him quickly. Legolas shifted to watch his back, body tense and swords still raised, but there were no more foes to fell.

Glorfindel looked around them, and counted the orc bodies. Twelve were either dead or dying on the ground.

"Do you sense any more?" he asked the Mirkwood prince at his flank.

Legolas's brows furrowed in concentration, and then he shook his head. "The enemies are as you see them. None else are skulking nearby."

"Stand down," Glorfindel commanded aloud and he, Legolas, Renior and the three Rivendell elves they had come with, eased from their battle-ready positions and sheathed their weapons. "Check if any are alive. If you find anyone that can survive interrogation, do what you can to preserve them but take no unnecessary risks. If they are too far gone, expedite their passing."

"My lord," Legolas said to Glorfindel. "I understand you have knowledge of healing. I cannot tell if any of these children are in need of care." His graceful hands motioned toward where a half dozen young humans clustered near him. They were wide-eyed and held onto each other fearfully. To them he said, "Don't be afraid. You are safe now."

They were battle-scared and untrusting. The Mirkwood prince lowered himself to sit on his haunches to match their eye line earnestly.

"The Lord Glorfindel slays dragons and monsters and giant creatures of fire," he told them, animatedly. "No harm can possibly come to you in such company."

An inexplicable anger rose in Glorfindel at Legolas' guarantee. It was a false promise, a _blind_ one. So many have been lost on his watch, in spite of all the things he'd been able to do. Too many. But his anger was only perhaps the remnants of worry and battle running in his veins. His indignation was unjust, for Legolas' promise was true, even if it was only for now. He steeled himself carefully on behalf of the innocents. He followed in Legolas' lead of lowering himself before the children, so as to appear less threatening.

"Let us see to your needs, little ones."

Warily, they moved toward him and let the ancient warrior give each one a cursory examination. Everyone he finished with, quietly stood aside and waited for his or her fellows.

"Renior," Legolas called out to his soldier, "Find and secure a clearing, some place we can take the children so that they are away from this mess. Find them water to drink and perhaps wash with, and provide what warmth we can." He removed his cloak and handed it to his attentive, giant Silvan, who thereafter immediately did as he was told, drafting one of the Rivendell soldiers to go with him.

In the meantime, Glorfindel worked his way down the line of trembling children. Legolas shuffled beside him. His unseeing eyes were darting to and fro, as he tried desperately to listen and understand what Glorfindel was doing and how the children were doing. The older warrior took pity and quietly narrated his actions.

"I offer a cursory exam," he murmured in explanation, "a basic triage, to help me determine who is in the most immediate danger and need of attention. I am checking markers for breathing, bleeding and responsiveness. Lord Elrond's healers will be able to come to better determinations, but right now all I can do is ensure we can get each of them there alive." Legolas nodded in understanding, and waited expectantly as Glorfindel finished with each child.

"They are a bit worse for wear," he reported, "Minor cuts and contusions, exhaustion, some dehydration. Certainly we have to worry about the shock of all this. But there are no breaks, no bleeding, no concussions, no other serious injury that I can see. For now they will need just as you had perceived – water and warmth, and assurances of safety."

As if on cue, Renior and the Rivendell elf he had commandeered returned, claiming they had readied a place for the children. Glorfindel ushered them forward, and they followed as they were bid.

"Anyone else requiring attention?" Glorfindel asked, looking at each of the soldiers with a practiced eye.

"Nothing we cannot live with, my lord," one replied with a grin. It made Legolas chuckle, which drew the attention – and ire – of the ancient, golden warrior. The Prince of Mirkwood had a bruise on his cheek and a sluggishly bleeding cut on the corner of his lips.

Glorfindel growled, low and dangerously. This in turn caught Legolas' attention, and his lips again turned up in an ironic smile. He knew what was coming next.

"Take the children away from here," he told Renior and the Rivendell soldiers. "I think they've seen enough carnage for one day."

It was a joke ill-received; Glorfindel was in no mood for the prince's gallows humor, especially since he really was ready to take Legolas to task, _violently_ , for participating in this poorly planned albeit successful rescue mission.

"Go," Glorfindel hissed at them, "and have a lookout for our reinforcements. They should be here any moment." While he waited for the soldiers and the children to leave beyond earshot, he looked at Legolas over carefully. The prince held himself easily; no signs of pain or even any discomfort, good pallor, steady breathing. The pupils of his unseeing eyes were clear and even. If anything he looked strong and revived.

Legolas knew he was staring. "I am well, Lord Glorfindel."

"Good," Glorfindel snapped, because it meant he could be angry... and he was _incensed_. "You are not supposed to be here!"

"None of us are supposed to be here, my lord," Legolas pointed out. He was getting angry too, but still making attempts to rein in his own rising temper.

"By all means, your highness, keep trying to be clever with me now, I dare you!"

"Well one of us has to keep his head."

"Oh, one of us?" growled Glorfindel. "You presume to lecture me on prudence, when it is you who had gone off running to a rescue mission while figuratively and literally blind to its dangers?"

Legolas grimaced. It was hurtful, and it was meant to be. Glorfindel persisted.

"Do you even understand the risks you took? Do you know what a secondary blow could do to a barely healed head? On top of the limitations forced by your disability, besides. You could have died! Or perhaps worse, you could have caused others to die if they had to worry for you on top of worrying for themselves and their duties to these children. You know full well you were a liability on that field. I admire your desire to fight and by the grace of the gods you are gifted, even without sight. But when you fight, at least do so with reason!"

"You think I acted without reason?" Legolas retorted. "I gleaned information from the witness enough to know what we had to go up against. I sent the fastest runner away for reinforcements. I used the remnants of my useful senses to track our foes, discreetly and from a distance. We left markers for a team to follow us. We did not engage the enemy until one of the orcs started talking about eating one of the children. When we attacked, I stayed at the edges of the fray on a defensive position and kept to it. So my lord, _do not presume to lecture me_ on _my_ business! You do not have a monopoly on this knowledge!"

"You are not nearly fit enough to consider this your business at all!" Glorfindel pointed out.

"I couldn't just stand by and do nothing," Legolas insisted and added, as if it should have explained everything, "There were children!"

"No," Glorfindel argued, "Actually, you could have. You could have just stood by and waited the scant few minutes for more qualified help to come. These captives have been in the clutches of the horrid creatures for how long now, it wouldn't have much mattered. You have the impulses of an elfling!"

"You're the one acting like a child," Legolas seethed, "I understand the costs I could have paid for myself and those who had been with me if things turned sour. I weighed it, and you'd better believe I was willing to pay it. This is just another day for me, do you understand? These are the dangers I live with in my home, every single day. When someone calls, you go. You're ill or hurt or starving or terrified or unprepared, but you go - "

He cut himself off at the sound of their approaching reinforcements, a long moment before Glorfindel heard them himself. Indeed, it seemed as if Legolas' blindness had heightened his other senses, just as Telion described.

Legolas lowered his voice and calmed himself. "I am sure there are things I could have done better, my lord, but that is not a conversation for the moment. If you choose to be constructive, you will have my full attention later. But if you wish to continue skewering me over this instead, then you may keep your opinions to yourself."

He shouldered past Glorfindel roughly and with full intent, and the petty kind of impetuousness of it after his lofty speech about maturity, duty and courage almost made Glorfindel laugh in disbelief.

Legolas kept their shoulders touching however, when he said more quietly, "But I do thank you for coming to our aid, at any rate. I am grateful for your help."

"You didn't need it," Glorfindel found himself admitting, grudgingly.

One side of Legolas' lip turned up in small smile, but he ducked his head and shook it off, as if to dissuade himself of some elusive thought. He frowned and walked away from Glorfindel, toward the approaching soldiers.

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The orcs, it was later determined, were headed back to their stronghold in the north of the Misty Mountains from raids in the south and east. There were scattered human settlements there, easy pickings for small villainous parties and their various nefarious ends. While they did not dare breach the bounds of Imladris, the recent raiding group's proximity was an unwelcome thought, and so patrols and hunts were consequently increased and widened in scope.

One such endeavor left Glorfindel returning to Rivendell feeling achy and ill-at-ease after a violent encounter. He was tired and sore, but thought nothing more of it until he woke up in the middle of the night sure that he was _burning_.

His mind knew - he'd taken perhaps a seemingly negligible cut, now infected or laced with some potent poison that was now working its cruel way through his body. He reminded himself of that sobering thought as he staggered from his suites and made his stumbling way to seek help out in the halls. He stepped out of his doors and fell to his hands and knees on the ground, and he relished how cold it was. When his arms collapsed beneath him and his vision tunneled, he comforted himself with the feeling of the cold stone against his warm cheek.

An indeterminate time later, the cool stone was gone. He felt overheated and the familiar, inescapable torture of it had him lost and screaming in the nightmare of a memory. Of a fallen city in ruin and flames.

People said he was fearless and strong and youthful and joyful and wise. He'd heard them. He'd relished in letting them believe it, in sometimes believing it himself. But he was hot, _nay, burning_. He was burning. He was burning, and no one burning can ever be any of these things.

Nothing ached as sharp and deep and long as burning. Fire turned you into something else entirely and it took its time. It devoured all of you. Fire crawled up the skin and beneath it, hungrily. You could smell yourself burn. You could hear yourself scream. You could feel yourself die. He'd seen it, been surrounded by it, been blinded by smoke and choked by the ash of lost things and lost bodies, he'd breathed them, their ashes -

"You're not burning," came a low, breezy, melodious voice.

It was so calm and sure, and with it came the feeling of cool, soothing cloths on his heated skin. Across his brow, against his neck, down his chest. A cold, powerful grip held his hand and stretched his arm, while another hand ran it down with moistened cloths too.

"It is only the summer," the voice went on, and its owner's soul - sensitive but light and playful - brushed against his, and helped him conjure images away from fire and death.

 _It is only the summer..._

... and thus, even in the sweltering heat at its height, there would still be the comfort of the cool soil and thick, soft patches of grass still moistened by morning dew. There would still be a soft, lazy breeze, and cold, rushing river water. There would still be the shade of a mighty tree crowned by verdant green leaves.

"Glorfindel. Awaken, my lord. For the Earth that needs you, and for those that love you..."

He knew these words, remembered them as his own, spoken to someone he is now surprised had heard them. He clawed and crawled towards all of it - the green trees, the soft breeze, the precious, insistent call...

"Awaken for _me_."

Glorfindel stirred and opened his eyes to find himself in the healing halls of Rivendell. And Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, was washing his feet.

His body felt much cooler, from his head down to where the wood-elf was at the foot of his bed. He was in a fresh sleeping robe lightly fastened and parted down along his knees. He'd been washed... everywhere. He realized with a slight flush that if the other elf had worked his way from Glorfindel's head and was by now at his feet, he had apparently missed... _much_.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was broken and grave, as if he had been screaming. He did not want to ponder too much on that.

"Whatever I can," came the strange reply. Legolas turned to face him then. "Rivendell's soldiers took exception to what has befallen their hero. More than a few orc packs in surrounding territories and likely beyond will be reduced to dust by now. I wish I could be in your service and give you my bow. I wish very much to be among those avenging your hurts. But since I cannot contribute in that way, I am here. I will leave now that you are on the mend, Lord Glorfindel."

"Must... you?" the ailing warrior found himself asking.

"I was under the impression my company was something you no longer wished to keep," Legolas replied warily. Glorfindel ached to contest that impression. His mind and his throat worked to find the words and the strength, just as his heart struggled to find the courage. But they all eluded him in favor of the needs of his exhausted body.

"Stay," was all he managed as his eyes drifted close.

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The elven prince did as he was bid, and over the course of a blur of hours, probably even days, Glorfindel found himself waking beneath Legolas' glacial blue eyes, as much a reminder that he wasn't burning as the melodious voice's continual reassurances that the heat was only from a beautiful forest summer.

He would wake to find the Prince in a miscellany of locales along the length of his body. Once, he woke to Legolas washing his hair.

"I do not deserve your service." Glorfindel murmured the first thing that came to his disoriented mind.

"I cannot confess to know what the Lord Glorfindel does or does not deserve," came the light, humorous reply. He couldn't see Legolas' face but he could hear the smile upon it. He fancied he could even hear the barest tremble of his full lips. "But I rub down and wash my own horse often enough. Surely you deserve at least this."

"Compare me to your beast of burden, why don't you," Glorfindel muttered.

"Irreverence! He is a warhorse."

A parade of faces came into his line of vision as he labored under the effects of the poison that had ravaged his body. The Prince of Mirkwood, alone or in company, was always among them. Glorfindel eventually learned to seek him first.

When he finally woke in full possession of himself one night, Legolas was in his room but his attentions were not directed Glorfindel's way. Legolas was standing against the doors to his balcony, one foot inside the room and one foot out, but head turned up as much as he could toward the skies, bathing his blind eyes in starlight.

"Aren't you too old to still be wishing upon the stars, princeling?" Glorfindel called out. His voice was still broken, but had regained some of its old strength. Legolas heard him nonetheless.

He turned and faced the older warrior with a ready smile. "No one should be too old to ever stop."

His earnestness made Glorfindel smile too.

"Let me get you some water," the Prince offered. He walked surefootedly to a bedside table, even in his blindness. He had been here a while.

Glorfindel was glad for the drink, especially when the wood-elf raised his head and helped him with it. When they were done, the proximity allowed Glorfindel to grip the archer's hand.

"I am sorry I imposed upon you to stay," Glorfindel said. "I had no right to. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I was - am - happy to be of use," Legolas assured him. He gripped Glorfindel's hand back, but only lightly. "My people are adept at caring for those afflicted by tortured dreams. We deal with venom and poisons aplenty, and we have proximity to the Enchanted River besides."

Legolas' voice, Glorfindel recalled, had turned fears of a terrifying burning into a beautiful summer. With just a few words he reshaped screaming, mindless torment into something beautiful.

"It is no bother," the prince assured him, "I've sat with many."

"And I thought I was special." Glorfindel tried to hide a wince. It was trite, but the words left his mouth before he could stop himself. As he had told Elrond at the start of this maddening exercise, sometimes he had intentions at conquest and other times he did not.

Legolas received the accidental flirtation graciously. "That is your misfortune," he laughed, and for the love of the gods it made Glorfindel's heart soar. As it often did.

"My soul takes flight on the wings of your laughter," Glorfindel confessed suddenly, while he was half out of his head, while he had an excuse to be reckless, while it lent him courage. "I didn't think something so small could be so powerful. I find myself... disarmed."

Legolas' grip on his tightened spasmodically, from surprise. But it was a different force altogether that got his grip to stay.

"Then why have you made yourself so scarce when-" he cut himself off. "I thought you realized other affairs were more worthy of your time and attention than some blind archer. Not fit for training or the field. A liability - "

"I am sorry for letting you think that," Glorfindel said. He was tiring quickly, but it was a thought he had to vanquish, and there were other words that needed to be said. "Sorrier than I can say, when it is so far from the case. I think I've come to adore you. But for all that I am and all that I have seen, I am no god. I did not foresee you coming into my life. I do not see you in my future, nor have I seen myself in yours. Perhaps it is not to be, and we may as well spare ourselves pain and trouble. It may well be the right thing to do in any case. You are here for healing, not... my complexities. I will not take advantage of you."

"I do not have the burdens of your larger view of the world," the other elf said quietly. "Where I am from, finiteness does not diminish the value and pursuit of things. Just because something will end does not mean it is any less worthy of love and effort. Like flowers and trees and lovely things that grow."

"Wood-elf gardener."

Legolas grinned and he looked like a child for a moment, but he went on seriously. "Perhaps. At any rate, these ephemeral precious things should be held close. They are least favorable to waste if found." His lips quirked. "I would implore you not to waste me, though that is perhaps shortsighted." He pressed a light kiss on Glorfindel's hand before releasing it. "You have become the light in my life, but that is a conversation for another day. You are tiring, my disarmed warrior, and as some reputedly wise elf or other once said - 'You are here for healing, not my complexities. I refuse to take advantage of you.'"

Glorfindel drifted back to sleep with a laugh on his lips, and his mind chased dreams of a lazy, breezy summer spent resting beneath the shade of evergreen trees.

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Glorfindel next woke to the Silvan elf, Telion's set, serious face. That it was not Legolas by his side worried him immediately, and he struggled to rise to quaking elbows.

"Rest easy my lord," implored the slight elf as he helped ease the recovering warrior to a sitting position.

"Your prince?" Glorfindel asked hoarsely.

Telion winced. "Laid low by a headache, I'm afraid. It is not uncommon. He has possession of mind enough to ask me to sit with you in his stead. How are you feeling?"

"Recovered," Glorfindel said, and it was mostly true.

"He will be glad to hear it," Telion said. "I will bring you a meal, Lord Glorfindel, and inform the healers of your waking. Is there anything else I might assist you with?"

"A change of clothes would be appreciated," Glorfindel replied. "And I wish to visit with Prince Legolas, if he will have me. He has been most kind."

"He is poor company," came the surprisingly wry reply. The serious, little loyal one had streaks of Legolas' macabre humor after all. "Even he knows it. His condition also makes him intolerant of movement and sound. But I will inform him of your request."

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Glorfindel was not received.

Telion did not say it expressly, but a soldier of his capabilities would not have forgotten to ask, and for him to have said nothing meant Legolas did not wish to see Glorfindel, or perhaps did not wish to be seen in his vulnerability.

Telion's old words, " _He wouldn't have wanted you to see that_ " echoed firmly in his mind, and he respected that will and gave Legolas a wide, unobtrusive berth... at least for a few hours. Besides, though he and Legolas had privately somewhat confessed to a mutual interest in each other, it was far from a lover's irrefutable claim to demand admittance to the ailing one's side.

Glorfindel knew he had no rights to claim. But by nightfall, plagued by worry and disturbed by lack of information, he found himself pushing dizzily away from his own sickbed and heading for the anteroom outside of Legolas' closed-off sleeping chambers. He hoped to be let in, or at least be in near proximity and immediately available for good tidings. But the low, sporadic moans and occasional dry heaving he could hear from beyond the doors did not bode well.

A line of Mirkwood soldiers were there, and they helped settle him on a divan in his own quiet corner, knowing he was still on the mend himself. There, he waited with them. A bevy of rotating Rivendell elves came and went with inquiries of their own too.

It was how Elrond, long ensconced inside with the ailing prince, found him upon emerging. The Lord of Imladris gave the ancient warrior a pointed look, and motioned for Glorfindel to follow him. Glorfindel rose from where he sat and stood with the Lord of Imladris by a window in the halls, away from the ears of the others. He swayed a little at the change in position.

"You are not well enough yet to be at vigil here, Lord Glorfindel," Elrond said sternly and without preamble, steadying him by the arms and letting go only when he recovered his sense of balance.

Glorfindel ignored the admonishment. "How is he?"

Elrond sighed. "I suppose you have come to press your case and be let inside, just like half the elves in my land. This one is turning the peace of this house on its head."

"He had looked after me most unselfishly. I hope it is not the reason he is overtaxed."

"Oh is that all this is?" Elrond asked with a raised brow.

Glorfindel scowled impatiently at his old friend, who sighed again.

"Did I not warn you of avoiding this precise situation?"

"He is not my conquest," Glorfindel replied, "I am his." The words felt strangely at home in his mouth. _I am his..._

Elrond's elegant brows rose higher.

"Well?" Glorfindel pressed.

Not knowing what to say of the other matter, the Lord of Imladris took to answering the original inquiry. "The headaches are crippling and they come and go. It is not strange to have symptoms like this days, weeks, sometimes even months and years after traumatic head injuries. This is not his first, and likely not his last. He is... convinced he will weather it."

The healer's careful choice of words was not lost on the friend who had long known him. It jolted Glorfindel. "And what of you? Are you not convinced?"

"He's had attacks to varying degrees since coming here but this is the most miserable I've ever seen him," Elrond replied, "And this spell draws long and seems to be getting worse rather than better. Two days is too long when he barely tolerates sips of water, much less food. He cannot even find escape in sleep."

"Is there nothing you can give him?"

Elrond winced. "I was of a mind to do so. Sleep would spare him from pain and I thought I might be able to coax sustenance into him while unconscious. But he has thrown up any medicine before they can take hold. When I force him he only loses more than he takes in, and I do not dare give him anything that works faster or stronger in this state. I need him to be communicative. His eyes suggest he is bleeding again or otherwise injured inside. I won't know with certainty unless... unless I take a knife to him, which I am considering now. Certainly I mean to send for his father."

Glorfindel's eyes widened. "As bad as all that?"

"He cannot go on like this," Elrond said grimly. "He is deteriorating. And in this weakened constitution I fear for his revival if a fit should strike him now, which is a distinct possibility given that it has been a while since his last one." He pressed his lips together in thought. "However... you had mentioned seeing snatches of him in the future, did you not? Perhaps I should not be so forbidding."

Glorfindel searched his mind's eye. He was an emissary for the gods and was privy to the bold strokes of their vision, but it was always open to interpretation and as he was not one of them, he did not always understand their ways. Even the most beloved of the gods' servants could not boast of knowing their precise will.

"I see a golden head," Glorfindel whispered, and he clung to the image himself. "I see his bow. I feel his heart. That is all."

"I will hold fast to whatever hope that provides," Elrond nodded determinedly, "but there are still things that need to be done. I will send word to the Elvenking, and leave it to his discretion to come. By the time he arrives here at any rate, the situation would have resolved itself one way or another."

 _Either Legolas survives or he doesn't._

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**


	4. Let Me Love

**"These Visions of You"**

 _When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf._

 **hi guys!**

Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favorited and especially to all who reviewed and continue to stick with me on this fic. Up ahead is a bit of a difficult chapter... but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have so much on my plate at the moment, feeling a bit overwhelmed, but this has been a solace and I thought, an update might make me feel like I at least was able to do something productive today, haha ... so please feed the writer with a review if you can (i know we're all busy and looking to de-stress so no pressure!). Personalized responses coming as soon as I get a breather. In the meantime, without further ado:

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 **4: Let Me Love**

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"I wish to see him."

"That is not in my purview," Elrond said to Glorfindel. "And as I understand it, your request has already been denied. I shouldn't have even spoken with you of Legolas' private health, except your visions give me perspective. But I will inquire again on your behalf-"

A thundering arrival cut off the elven lord's words. Elrond's twin sons had come upon the guarded doors of their dear friend the prince's sleeping chambers. They were still in their armor and travel-worn clothes.

"Let me in." It was Elrohir who spoke first, but Elladan who was acting sooner. He was shedding his weaponry and outer coats while the other twin "negotiated" their way inside.

"I will announce you-" began the harried Mirkwood guard.

"I am a healer trained by Elrond and Legolas' friend," Elrohir snapped. "This is my house, besides. You will let me through. We've all waited long enough, your prince included."

From beside Glorfindel, Elrond gave out a world weary exhale before calling out to his irate son. " _Ion-nin_. Welcome home. No one will contest your entry but there are things you must do. Shed your travel coats and lower your voice. You will be of no help to Legolas otherwise."

Thus were the doors opened and Elladan, already without his armor and travel cloaks, let through first. But the doors were left ajar in wait of the other twin, who most dispassionately took to the straps of his weapons and the clasps of his coats.

The door was in this way open enough for Glorfindel to have a glimpse of what was inside. It was dim, and what at the onset looked like a discarded pile of cloths on the floor was none other than Legolas on the ground, lying curled on his side and tangled in his robes. One hand was clawed and fisted against his head and hair, half obscuring his face. The other hand was pressed palm flat and wide open against the ground. His eyes were closed, but from the tension in his brow and upon his trembling body, he was wide awake, alert, and feeling every misery.

Glorfindel could tell that Elladan had been taken aback too, for the more diplomatic of Elrond's sons had taken a breath before speaking.

"Has no one prevailed upon this uncivilized wood-elf to sleep on a proper bed?" he chided, softly and gently. He lowered himself to his knees behind Legolas' twisted form, and stroked at his tangled hair. They both glowed, dully, and Glorfindel felt a charge in the air, of strength and energy shared, of a soul reaching out for another.

Legolas barely stirred, but he sighed at the contact and one side of his lip quirked in humor. "Cool," he murmured in explanation, "still." His voice was breathy and thin.

Elrohir followed and his powerful figure standing at the entrance completely obscured the inside of the room from view for a long moment. By a minute jerk of his body, however, Glorfindel knew he was just as shocked as his brother at the sight before him. He lowered himself to the ground too, finally opening up Glorfindel's sightline. For a long moment, Elrohir's hands hovered over the prince, not knowing where to touch or give comfort.

He decided on a joke.

"What is this I hear of you wasting away in here, Legolas?"

This the prince's macabre humor appreciated more, and with Elladan's infusion of strength reinvigorating him somewhat, Legolas found energy enough for a soft chuckle. Glorfindel envied the twins their easy bond with the ailing Mirkwood Prince, and though his feelings were tinged with jealousy, he could not begrudge anything or anyone that privilege as long as it gave Legolas strength or joy.

"I'm not... dying, _mellon-nin_ ," Legolas drawled softly. His tongue was heavy and his mouth dry, but his tone managed to stay on playful. "Have you...not heard? The... L-lord Glorfindel himself... spreads a f-fanciful rumor of mmmy future deeds."

Glorfindel thought it was as good an invitation as he was going to get. He pushed his way forward and was not stopped. He lowered himself before Legolas too, and settled on his knees on the ground beside Elrohir, who shuffled to make room. The prince's eyes opened then, and lifted up to find the ancient warrior's gaze.

They were as beautifully, arrestingly blue as always, but they looked _wrong_. The dark center of one eye had become a large, black pool dominating most of the blue, while the one on the other eye had become all but a tiny pinprick. The twins, long versed in their father's good works, recognized the urgency of it immediately. Glorfindel felt Elrohir stiffen beside him.

"The Lord Glorfindel will bless you with his rarified company awhile, you undeserving wood-elf," Elrohir teased, but his worried eyes and a slight tremble to his voice betrayed his simmering panic. The brothers got to their feet, each giving Legolas a reassuring squeeze on the arm and Glorfindel a small bow, before hurriedly making for their father's and the Mirkwood party's counsel outside.

They closed the doors behind them and, from having been so long locked out, Glorfindel suddenly found himself alone with Legolas in the room.

"You sh-shouldn't be here," Legolas stammered. But the crippling thought that Glorfindel was unwelcome vanished the moment Legolas added, "You are… n-not well...yet."

It was the reason why he'd been denied entry, not that his company was unwanted or his person distrusted with the prince's vulnerabilities. Legolas thought that he was unwell.

"I am doing better than you, clearly," Glorfindel said wryly. He shifted and shuffled, before deciding the best position was to lie alongside the other elf, so that Legolas needn't have to turn his head up at him. Legolas sighed in contentment when Glorfindel settled down across from him, lying on his own side upon the ground. Their long, golden hair caught in each other's again.

"I... c-can hear them," Legolas closed his eyes and said in a soft, dragging drawl, "with their healers' mut-mutterings. They will want to c-cut my head open, my Lord Glorfindel. Do not, do not let them. It will only h-hurt usss all."

"I understand the prospect is unwelcome," Glorfindel said uncertainly, "but the healers will know more than either of us, surely."

Legolas made a clumsy movement that resembled a one-sided shrug. "It will f-fix itself or it won't, I know this to be... t-true."

"At any rate I have no rights to contest the expertise of the Lord of Imladris in this," Glorfindel pointed out. "I will have no reasonable grounds."

"You own... m-my heart. That will be enough."

The plain statement stole Glorfindel's breath away. "Legolas-"

"You need n-not return...my affections for it to be t-true," Legolas assured him.

"But I do-"

"So do as I ask... and d-do not l-let them. P -promise."

The prince opened his uneven eyes, which were now as visibly broken outside as they were unseeing inside. Based on what Lord Elrond had said and Glorfindel's own knowledge and experience of injuries, it meant Legolas was suffering something serious, perhaps fatal.

"I think you are bleeding inside," Glorfindel told him softly. "You have to let them help you."

"If they t-tear me open and sift around in there, it will not... help me and it will b-break their hearts t-to try. I-" his words broke off at a sudden, hoarse cry. His eyes clenched closed again at a sudden wave of pain. The hand that clawed at his head tightened so much that they shook, and his veins looked dark and raised against his taut, pale skin. He was practically pulling at his own flesh and hair. His free hand upon the ground fisted and slammed down on it repeatedly.

Glorfindel scrambled to sit, and his hands hovered over the agonized elf uncertainly. "Legolas," he said under his breath, not knowing what to do or say, "Legolas. Easy now..."

The elven prince, lost to his own miseries, did not acknowledge him. He grit his teeth against another cry, and his curled body bucked and folded as his stomach tried to rid itself of contents it did not have. He flailed as he tried to raise himself up.

Glorfindel, not knowing what else to do, helped him. He held Legolas across his lap, half-cradling the Mirkwood elf as he hung off of Glorfindel's arm and heaved dry coughs to the ground beside them. From how he held the prince, Glorfindel could feel the wild beating of his heart, the rebellious rolling of his stomach, and the ragged breaths that sawed in and out of his body.

When Legolas finished, he hung heavily from the crook of Glorfindel's elbow. Pained, low, exhausted moans were cut by small, barely intelligible gasps that quietly called for the good gods to give him strength.

"P-please," Legolas whispered, and this last thing had Glorfindel closing his eyes in deep pain for the anguished creature he held in his arms. He shifted his burden, and rested his chin atop Legolas' head, affectionately.

"You have to let the healers help you however way they can," he told Legolas softly. But his voice trembled at his own fear that the other elf was already beyond the help of earthly hands. Legolas' uneven eyes, his heavy, slurring speech, the severity of his headache, his poorly coordinated, one-sided movements... they were all coming together to form a poor prognosis in Glorfindel's mind.

"You're...the o-only one who can help me... n-now."

 _But it cannot be_ , Glordindel's mind protested and warred with itself. _He lives beyond this to face a great danger and do a great deed. I saw a golden head. I saw his bow. I felt his heart..._

Glorfindel shifted the elf gently in his arms, so that he was better able to see his face. Legolas' uneven eyes were half-lidded, sunken and unfocused. It alarmed Glorfindel that the unseeing blues that somehow defied blindness and always found his gaze, now no longer bothered. Legolas pawed at him sightlessly. His hand was cold, heavy and unsteady when it settled over the fabric on the older warrior's chest. He didn't have much strength to keep it raised on his own however, and he clung for purchase at the cloth of Glorfindel's shirts and strands of the ancient warrior's golden hair that strayed there.

"Please t-tell my father of mmmy love," the prince said breathily, "And I wish very much for you to have... m-mmmy bow. I've longed to bring it t-to your... service but have not been able to. I thought... wielding it was... a g-gift lost t-to me forever but you made it sing in my hands once more. It isss... well-worn but well-kept and well-l-loved. You n-need not use it, but it is yours... Y-you have m-mmy bow. It iss y-y-yours..." His eyes twitched, and unfocused and re-focused.

"Please t-tell my father of my love," Legolas continued, "And I wish very much for you to have m-mmmy bow-"

Legolas had started over, Glorfindel realized in horror. The words, the tone... the only difference was that Legolas' tongue was heavier the second time around. Glorfindel gripped him tighter, and flooded the other elf with a surge of energy at their contact; a hungry, earnest connection. He reached for him in soul. The wood-elf's presence, however, was but a distant, staccato beat; light, fast, fleeting.

Legolas was dying, Glorfindel understood that now. He closed his eyes and let their connection deepen. Surely more of the prince was hiding somewhere else in there. But Legolas was darting and elusive, running away with his impossibly light feet. His mind was going.

"I've longed to bring it t-to your... service but have not been able to do so..." the ailing elf went on.

"I need to get help," Glorfindel told him urgently, and he shifted to move away, but he couldn't seem to extricate himself from Legolas' grip.

"You n-need not use it," Legolas rambled on, "but it is yours... Y-you have m-mmy bow."

Something struck Glorfindel then, and the realization washed over him like a giant, heavy wave.

The golden head he had been seeing in his visions of the future, the golden head he thought was Legolas'? It was his own. And Legolas' bow was there because he had given it to Glorfindel - for did he not bequeath it just now?

As for Legolas' heart, which Glorfindel felt so distinctly in his visions of the future... he felt it only because Legolas had given it, too - and Glorfindel thereafter took it everywhere with him.

What he had been seeing was his renewed purpose upon the Earth, his own quest to make – not Legolas' future. He had a vision of his own hair, the precious inherited bow and the heart he had longed to hold as his own. None of these were a promise of Legolas' survival and his part in the future, as Glorfindel and Elrond had hoped. If anything, the visions were more a promise of Legolas' death and how Glorfindel would have to walk the rest of his days bearing the anguish of it.

Legolas was going to die, and this night, already on his way.

 _Good gods, no..._

"Listen to me, Legolas," Glorfindel said vehemently, "I know you are trying your best, but I need you to be better."

The disoriented wood-elf who had been repeating his sentences and slurring his words surprised him, saying, "Th-th-there isss... a l-l-linguistic flaw-"

"Your mind is going and yet you have the temerity to correct -" Glorfindel steeled himself, realizing by Legolas' broken, half-smile that he was being played with. He promised himself that it would all be funny later. _Much later_. "Legolas. Listen to me you foolish princeling, you need to let the healers at least try to -"

He stopped suddenly, when the body beneath his tightened. The hand Legolas held to his hair and the fabric on his chest suddenly spasmed into a release and slid away.

"Glorfindel-!" the prince cried out hoarsely, a beat before his eyes rolled back and his face contorted into a grimace. He started to shake. This seizure did not have the violence of the first Glorfindel had witnessed, but he knew that was why it was worse. Gone was the forceful trembling of before, which had locked Legolas' body in torment from his head to his toes. This time around, his body was tight but more pliant, and most of the movement centered on his jerking head.

The elf he held in his arms barely had anything left to even mount a decent death throe. It would be as Elrond feared. Legolas was not going to be strong enough to revive after days of weakness and deterioration, and this looked to be the final, messy end of his agonies.

For a short moment, Glorfindel considered laying Legolas to the floor and clearing everything hard around him so that he would not hit them, just as Telion had taught. But Glorfindel already knew this attack was different from the others. He decided it was much kinder to just sit still and hold Legolas, and infuse him with warmth and presence, remind him he was not alone.

"I am here, Legolas, I am here. I know you suffer but hold on and it will be done before you know it. Hold on. I am here. Hold on. I am here."

He pressed a kiss to the younger warrior's golden head, and broke his litany only to call out in the direction of the closed doors, "Elrond!"

He did not bother saying anything else, knowing that the Lord of Imladris would understand his urgency. The Rivendell twins for their part, practically tore the doors open in their rush back inside Legolas' rooms, and right behind him was the elf lord himself, trailed by Legolas' loyal soldiers and a gaggle of healers.

"You need to lay him down-" Telion said urgently.

"Let him be held," Elrond countered quietly, a concession Glorfindel was both grateful for and also abhorred, because of what it implied – that there was little else to be done.

"No-" argued Telion, but Renior's hand upon his shoulder kept him where he was. They held their ground and watched, as Elrond and his sons clustered around Glorfindel and the prince. The Rivendell elves sank to their knees and waited for Legolas' convulsions to cease.

"Come on now, Legolas, for crying out loud," Renior implored.

"It will end soon my lord," Telion murmured in half certainty and half hope. "Just hold on, Legolas. It will end soon, _mellon-nin_."

"The _miruvor_ ," Elrond instructed his healers, one of whom promptly showed him they were ready with a full vial of the restorative liquid.

For a seemingly eternal minute, the only sounds in the hushed room were strangled grunts coming from Legolas, and the sound of the fabric of his robes shuffling against Glorfindel's clothes as he trembled. The ancient warrior lord held him close. Eventually, Legolas' jerking movements ceased, and every limb of his exhausted body collapsed bonelessly upon the arms around him.

"Lay him down now," Elrond ordered Glorfindel in a clipped, clinical tone, even as he helped to ease the still figure from the other elf. This letting go felt like an abomination to Glorfindel, but he yielded.

Once Legolas was settled on the ground, Elrond started parting his robes and undoing his shirts at the torso, while Elrohir made a grab of the prince's wrist and Elladan straightened his neck and tilted his chin up to ease his airways. Legolas' uneven eyes were alarmingly half-open and staring up, emptily, at the skies, oblivious to all the attention.

"His heart beats," Elrohir reported, "barely."

Elladan leaned an ear over the prince's mouth. "He is not breathing, _adar_ ," he reported, and started tapping insistently at the unresponsive wood-elf's cheeks while calling his name.

Elrond showed no surprise, and began rubbing his fist over the prince's bare chest and abdomen.

"Thranduilion," he called sternly, "it is not your time. Heed my call and breathe, young one."

"Legolas!" Elrohir hissed more familiarly, rubbing his warm hands against the other elf's cold one, "you stubborn wood-elf, listen for once in your life, why don't you!"

"Elladan," Elrond called upon his son kneeling by Legolas' head, and the younger elf needed no further instructions. He lowered his mouth upon the unconscious elf's and breathed for him alternately with his father's efforts at pressing and rubbing against Legolas' chest and belly. They worked in wordless concert.

Glorfindel watched, frozen where he was on his knees beside Legolas, whose pale body shifted from the efforts of those around him, but he moved not of his own accord at all.

" _Ada_..." came Elrohir's thin voice, his hands still upon the prince's now-reddened wrist. Elrond's son was pressing so tightly upon it that he was leaving a mark, just to keep track of the other's fleeting, fading pulse.

"Elladan stop," Elrond said, and nodded at one of his staff of healers. She came forward hurriedly and put the vial of _miruvor_ upon Elladan's hands. He dipped his fingers into the vial and dug his wet digits into Legolas' mouth, coating its insides, especially under his tongue, with the precious drink. They needed the wood-elf's body to absorb even just the slightest bit of it.

"Elrohir continue here," Elrond instructed, and father and son switched places. The Lord of Imladris rolled up his sleeves and held the prince's hand with both of his. He closed his eyes, and a dull glow emanated from him and from the powerful ring he wielded. Whatever he felt after doing this stirred in Elrond a shaky inhale that all but shattered Glorfindel's heart. The Lord of Imladris opened his eyes and looked up at the elf of Gondolin agonizingly, before he refocused on Legolas and started uttering prayers beneath his breath. He interspersed them with stern calls for the Prince of Mirkwood to heed his call and return.

 _It is not your time_ , Elrond kept telling him.

... except Glorfindel knew with certainty that it was. It was Legolas' time. The ancient warrior-lord closed his eyes and looked away from the once beautiful, emptying, broken body. They were all warriors here, they knew what death looked like. In Legolas it looked especially jarring because of the contrast; his glorious hair was a tangled mess, his glowing supple skin turned gray. His hands, the beautiful adroit hands were curled into empty, useless claws. His powerful body, always in conscious control, twisted, broken and, and, _discarded_. He looked like used and soiled and discarded raiment. It was a wretched, piteous, repugnant, pathetic sight. He wanted no part of it. He wanted to be away from there, away from all ephemeral things. Away from pain and loss. _Away. Away..._

Why in all of Arda would be sent back to this accursed place of pain and anguish and impermanence? Of things that were lovely but do not last? Has he not done enough in his life and beyond it to merit some rest of body, mind and spirit?

 _Good gods..._

 _...why do you punish so, those you claim to love?_

A tear escaped him. It was foreign and offensive against his face. Small but so unmissable, a warm trickle of uncomfortable wetness down his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked out at the neglected balconies of the suddenly oppressive room and found there, just waiting, just watching, a blanket of skies and stars.

 _The stars..._

"Take him outside," Glorfindel said to no one in particular. His voice was ragged. He was accustomed to being listened to, of not having to say anything twice before being heeded. But everyone had clearly larger worries than his fancies and so this, he had to almost scream. "Take him outside!"

Elrohir was first to heed him, and the rest followed for no one knew what else to do for the prince anyway, who had ceased breathing for too long now. Elrohir made a grab of Legolas decisively, and bundled him out to lay on the balconies beneath the stars. There, he, Elladan, their father and all those around them, each in their own ways continued to try and tether Legolas to life.

His soldiers called him, Elladan breathed for him, Elrohir rubbed at his chest, and Elrond by his words and power clung to the barest beats of his heart. Glorfindel had means of his own. He stayed on his knees in the now-abandoned room and he began to pray.

 _Nay, to beg._

 _I have nothing to give_ , he implored the gods. _Nothing I have is mine. I have nothing, not even my life or my death. All I have is the purpose you have laid before me. It is all I have. A place in history. A chance at accomplishment. A small line in the song of the world. This I will give readily for him, if you would let me._

 _Let me._

 _Let me..._

Glorfindel closed his eyes, and imagined the figure he'd been seeing in his abstract visions of the distant future – the fine golden hair, the bow and the stout heart. He imagined it to be Legolas rather than himself, alive and well and with those impossible skills of his, about to embark on a great quest. He imagined it to be Legolas himself being there, and not merely the remnants of his memory dragged along in the soul of the brokenhearted warrior he had left behind.

 _I will give everything I have if only that he may live_ , Glorfindel prayed. _But all I have is my work. I have nothing to give but that. Please give it to him and in giving it to him, spare his life. He will gift you with his deeds, I know it_.

He imagined what he had seen and admired of the young prince in the short time they have known each other. Legolas' intelligence and skill, his sheer ingenuity, his refusal to give up or give in to despair. He took pride in his work but he also had the humility to learn and always, always had the courage to try. He had easy humor and open affection, a truly generous heart, so able and ready to find and share joy both by deliberate design and even by the incidence of his existence. He loved, and was beloved.

 _He will gift you with his deeds, I know it..._

In the periphery of Glorfindel's attention, he heard the efforts around the prince intensify and take on a greater note of desperation. There was a tremble to the mighty Renior's voice and an edge to the tiny Telion's as they called for the princely charge who had also become their dear friend. He heard the quiet grunts and pants of the Rivendell twins as they continued their efforts at reviving Legolas. He heard Elrond's hiss of disapproval and sudden exclamation of the prince's name, and he knew then that the precious pulse had been lost.

 _Please..._

Glorfindel's mind raced. He begged Mandos to wait. To the Lady of the Earth, Yavanna, he presented that Legolas was a proud gardener who would gladly give his time for " _flowers and trees and lovely things that grow_ ," even if they will one day fade and leave him. To the Lord of the Forests, Orome, he held that Legolas was a child of the wood who, " _in my mind and by my blood_ " would always fight to keep it evergreen. To the Weeper Nienna, he told of Legolas' mercy for the innocents – that to him, " _There were children_ " was reason enough to fight, even if _he_ was not well enough to win it. To the Star-queen, Elbereth, he presented Legolas as the princeling who would never outgrow, even in blindness, his fondness for her twinkling gifts of light because " _No one should be too old to ever stop_ " wishing upon them.

Even as Glorfindel's mind raced, he could sense the activity around Legolas slow. The Mirkwood prince's mind had gone, and then his breathing, and now his heart. He could not be more quantitatively gone. _But we are more than the flesh and the mind_ , Glorfindel thought. _It is not done. It cannot be_.

He staggered to his feet and shot forward, taking over from Elladan. The Rivendell elf was pale and winded, having been at his post of giving his air and sharing his energy with the Mirkwood elf for some time now. Glorfindel closed his eyes and took his own turn at closing his mouth over Legolas'. All the while, he continued his prayers and infused every breath that he shared with light and warmth and love and everything else nameless and profound that he could conjure from his soul.

 _Do not take this light from this world_ , Glorfindel begged of the Valar as he alternately breathed into Legolas and raised his head to suck at air and life. Everything he breathed, he breathed into the other elf.

 _My life and my death and everything before and after is yours_ , Glorfindel prayed, _but let me love. And in loving, let me give. Let me love, as you so generously love this world and its creatures. I wish to love as you love, until the generosity of it is incomprehensible. Let me love until I am emptied. If you love me so generously, if you love me at all, then let me love like you do, and let him live. Let him live..._

Glorfindel was reminded of some of Legolas' haunting song, so fitting now, after all. _Let the winds of fall not take this last summer leaf_ , he begged the gods, _Let it stand throughout the winter cold, a mark of spring, a promise told – dark though the world may seem, by his heart and blood it will remain evergreen..._

 _He will gift you with his deeds, I know it. Please._

 _Please._

Glorfindel felt a glowing warmth spring from the core of his heart and spread out to every fiber of his being. The powerful energy coursed through his veins, electrifying him from seemingly every nerve. He felt like he was burning-

 _No. Summer. It is only the summer..._ He held on.

"Glorfindel!" he heard Elrond exclaim in the background. Glorfindel lowered his mouth to Legolas' one more time, and for a moment, it was as if time stopped.

There was a sudden silence and a deep, inky blackness.

Then the world exploded in a flash of brilliant white light.

#

# # #

#

A small gasp shocked him onto opening his eyes.

"Very good, Legolas," Elladan said softy, "One more... that's right. Just like that..."

Glorfindel felt born into a different life, but barely any time had passed at all. He looked down at the prince, who was taking in ragged breaths, in and out, strained but strong, and even better once he'd coughed out stale air. Legolas shivered minutely, and Telion and Renior immediately busied themselves with blankets to bundle their prince with and keep him warm.

"Too close, you fool," Renior scolded Legolas from under his breath, but his words had no heat and his hands were gentle as he pushed stray strands away from his lord's face. Legolas was covered in the blankets quickly, and he recovered his breaths while Elrond and the other healers checked his pulse at the neck and wrists. The twins were content to lay their hands over the chest now reassuringly rising and falling, and tossing thoughtful glances Glorfindel's way.

Glorfindel for his part could do nothing but tremble and stare, and he was not the only one. To the astonishment of everyone there, the prince's pallor changed from pale gray death to the flushed glow of life. And the unblinking, unseeing half-lidded eyes with the blown pupils repaired themselves and lit with starlight.

It looked like grace.

Legolas's eyes fluttered, and he stirred awake. The blue orbs focused, looking clear and aware. They shown with a blazing reflection of the glittering stars above their heads. His weary gaze drifted from the skies and eventually found Glorfindel. For a long moment, Legolas' gaze lingered searchingly and hungrily upon the face of the ancient, golden warrior.

"I see you," Legolas said breathily, with wonder. His eyes fluttered close as he began to drift towards exhausted slumber. "You are more beautiful than they say," he murmured, before falling back into unconsciousness.

#

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#

Renior carried his prince back to bed, cradled in his arms like the most precious of burdens, trailed by his party of Silvans, Elrond and his sons, and their staff of healers who were speaking in low but excited voices of what they had just witnessed. They kept throwing wide-eyed glances at Glorfindel. It was hard not be in awe, for the prince of Mirkwood was almost certainly standing at the doors of death, until the ancient, re-embodied warrior of Gondolin, by some inexplicable surge of power, gave Legolas air and life anew.

Glorfindel watched them go for a long moment, before turning away and looking out upon the glorious expanse of earth and rock and wind and water and sky and stars, al laid out before him from the vantage point of one of Imaldris' balconies. He wondered who had heard him, and wondered who had _listened_ , and wondered who interceded on his behalf.

Being the beneficiary of a godly intervention left him feeling shaken. It was terrifying, the thought that he had been heard. It was humbling, the thought that his desperate prayers had been granted. It was also confusing because he did not know who to thank, and what giving up his purpose meant for him now. Or perhaps there was no one to thank, and all of this was already fated. He hadn't been blessed, he'd been used.

He trembled, and he leaned against the balustrade heavily, using them to support his weight as he sank back to his knees on the ground. He rested his head against the cold stone railings.

He took in one fortifying breath, and another, another. The last one collapsed, and he found himself releasing instead, a guttural sob. He covered his mouth with a fist to quell the sound lest he attract attention before he could regain his breaths and his fleeting mind.

It was how Elrond came upon him, and the Lord of Imladris ran forward and knelt by his side while calling for help from his healers. Glorfindel turned his head away and hid his face.

"What did you do, my lord Glorfindel?" Elrond asked under his breath. "What did you do? You were already unwell to begin with- " the Lord of Imladris caught himself when he realized the ancient warrior was weeping, and not merely overtaxed by lingering illness and injury, and whatever energy he expended in the effort to save Legolas' life.

Glorfindel bent and shrank into himself when he heard the approach of urgent footfalls, preparing himself for humiliation. But Elrond was quick to protect him.

"I can care for him on my own after all," he suddenly said, effectively dismissing the new arrivals. Two, however, sensed what was amiss and remained stubbornly behind – Elrond's sons.

Elrond helped Glorfindel rise to his feet and supported him as he stood. Glorfindel shrugged him away. "No," Glorfindel protested. "See to him, Elrond. Please. I don't know... I don't know..."

He did not know precisely what it was he had done, or what he had been given. He did not know if it was enough. He did not know any of these. But all he needed at that moment was for someone to look after Legolas and make sure he was now truly well.

"We will care for lord Glorfindel, _adar_ ," Elladan said quietly, taking his father's place beside the older warrior. He slung Glorfindel's arm over his shoulder and this help, the ancient warrior accepted. He swayed, but Elladan was sure and strong.

"I will check on you later, _mellon-nin_ ," Elrond promised, before completely yielding the care of his old friend to his sons.

Elrohir positioned himself in front of Elladan and Glorfindel and strode powerfully and prohibitively ahead as they walked, shielding Glorfindel from all unwanted eyes.

"Keep your head low and let me steer you," Elladan told him gently. One foot in front of the other, not knowing what else to do or where else to go, Glorfindel simply followed.

#

# # #

#

When Glorfindel woke, the sun was high in the sky and he knew he'd slept a long while but he still felt shaky and exhausted. He found himself in his own rooms rather than the private space he'd been occupying at the healing halls, but he did not remember at all how he had gotten there.

He was blessedly alone.

He pushed off his blankets and swung his legs over his bed to the ground. The movement left him dizzied, but he settled quickly. He ran his hands over his face.

A strange feeling of mourning shrouded over him heavily, and he did not know what it meant because he also felt empty. But how could one be heavy and hollow at the same time? As one wily wood-elf once said, there was a linguistic flaw...

He needed air.

He rose, tightened his robes about his body, and stepped barefoot out onto his balconies. Like most of the rooms of Elrond's house, this opened to stunning views. His had excellent vantage of gardens, and there he found a sight that lightened his soul, filled his heart and tugged his lips into a smile.

On a blanket on the grass, Legolas sat in between the dark-haired Rivendell twins. He had a wrap about his shoulders that Elladan fussed with, while Elrohir looked like he was scolding him about something. A few paces behind them stood Legolas' guards, and a healer wringing her hands in worry. Glorfindel, however, felt no such fear for the Mirkwood elf who had apparently fought his way to the outdoors so soon after being close to death and somehow won his case.

 _I forgot to disclose that to the gods_ , he thought wryly. _Stubborn, sometimes to a fault. The occasional display of princely temper. Damned wily. He'd need some work..._

Glorfindel heard the quiet footfalls of his old friend, the Lord of Imladris, come up behind him.

"It is good to see you on your feet and smiling, _mellon-nin_ ," Elrond said as he stood beside Glorfindel, and smiled himself at the view below.

"I see your stray is already well enough to make a nuisance of himself," Glorfindel said mildly, nodding at the scene below. "I'm surprised you let him get out of bed."

"It's been three days," Elrond said wryly, "And he is looking far steadier on his feet than you."

Glorfindel was shocked. "Three days -!"

"You needed the rest," Elrond said easily. "Legolas' recovery on the other hand, is nothing short of breathtaking. Everyone says it is a miracle. I must confess my soul feels incandescent, and it is a most welcome feeling after the darkness that has been creeping up on us all these years. I did not even realize I needed that surge of hope, that odds can still be beaten. That light can break through... and that we have so powerful an ally in you."

Glorfindel cringed. "That's what our people say?"

"What were they supposed to think," Elrond said. "The Prince was dead, and you breathed life into him. I felt it strongly, the change in the air."

"It was not I," Glorfindel whispered. "It was the gods."

"But inextricably through you," Elrond pointed out. "Either way, I am heartened that the gods still look upon and touch us in direct ways. For Legolas was dead and we all knew it. He was dead the moment his eyes looked the way that they did. I read through my books. I believe now that it must have been a lesion and bleeding inside his head, weakened by the old injury and frayed and worn out over time. Even if he did not have the fits that depressed his breathing, he would not have lasted long. He wasn't just dead, you see. He would have been dead twice over."

The brutally plain pronouncements made Glorfindel shiver, even now. He suspected Elrond was being grim by deliberate design, though he did not yet know why.

"He had slipped from our hands." Elrond looked at him with an appraising eye.

Glorfindel gazed away.

"And suddenly he emerged not only alive and breathing," Elrond went on, "but seeing, and just shy of healed. It was godly intervention, as you say. What I wish to know, is what exactly you had to do with it."

"I prayed," said the other quietly, after a long moment of thought, deliberating if he should say anything at all. "And then I begged. And then I bartered. That is all."

"That is all?" Elrond frowned. "I wouldn't dare diminish the value of a barter with the gods. The price is always too high. But you knew that." He hesitated. "What, if I may ask –"

Glorfindel knew the question was coming. He took a deep breath. "I made a mistake in understanding my visions."

"As one sometimes does..."

Glorfindel nodded shortly. "I thought my visions were of Legolas, but they were of myself, of a mission I must embark upon. I saw the golden head we more or less share. I saw his bow because as he lay dying last night, he had bequeathed it to me. I felt his heart because that he had given too, and it was something I would bear with me everywhere ever after. The visions promised not of his life, but his death and my bearing of it.

"But it is all set to rights now, I suppose," Glorfindel continued, "I asked the gods to spare him in exchange for my purpose. He lives and he will have the work that was originally laid out for me, and the visions prove true either way."

Elrond pressed his lips together in thought. "You two are hardly interchangeable, Glorfindel. And if this future mission is as important as it seems, perhaps its success should not have been placed at risk on account of your love affair."

Glorfindel took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "All the world is moved by love, old friend. It has defied death," he motioned at Legolas before them. "Maybe it will be enough to prevent ruin."

"One hopes," Elrond agreed. He nodded out at the sight of the elves in the garden. "If that is your belief, why then has this 'love that moves everything' prevented you from moving toward him now? I don't believe you of all people would waste second chances."

"I am still busy being interrogated by an elf-lord," Glorfindel lied. There were other reasons, but he did not want to think about them yet. He hesitated. "Does he... does he know?"

"He says nothing of it," Elrond answered, "but the whispers about the breath of life you had given him could not have escaped his ears by now. He will ask questions."

"I won't have much in the way of answers," Glorfindel said. He looked out upon the scene below again, and even with all the thoughts and hesitations that plagued him, all he needed was the smallest sight of that golden head in the distance – hale, whole, happy – and it eased his heart. He was at peace with what he had done.

The twins were arguing animatedly about something, and Elrond laughed softly as he watched them. The mighty sons of the Lord of Imladris could be terrifying, but one would not think so by looking at how attentive they were to the prince of Mirkwood below.

"Ah those poor fools," said Elrond, endeared. "I think they took their time with him because they were always certain it was going to be one of them in the end. They didn't count on competition that was not each other. They most certainly did not expect you."

"It is not written," Glorfindel murmured thoughtfully. "I do not yet see Legolas in my future, nor do I see myself in his. But perhaps I know nothing anymore. Everything has become unmoored, and I am on unchartered territory. I am adrift. And he won't want me, not really, not for a long while yet. He had so much to do, even before I foisted my purpose upon him. He is eager for home, I bet."

"First thing out of his mouth," Elrond confirmed. "His people are suffering. And he anchors his temperamental father."

"And so they must have him," Glorfindel concluded.

"You will not inquire of the second thing he had asked for?"

Glorfindel motioned at the lovely sight out in the garden. "That, I suppose. His beloved greenery."

"He asked to see you," Elrond said.

The ancient warrior rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wearily. "Did you let him?"

"I saw no harm in it," Elrond said. "You let him tend you previously, and I was in desperate search for a good reason to keep him off his feet. He sat with you for a long while. It was a most excellent solution."

"I did not even notice. But I am glad to have missed it."

Elrond was taken aback. "Why?"

"I don't know what to say about what has transpired," Glorfindel admitted. "My mind is going in circles and he is a sharp one. I want to be on surer footing."

"Try not to overthink things, my friend," Elrond told him. "I will keep him here, one way or another, for at least a week. I think I can prevail upon him to stay until we determine if he is really out of danger. I advise you to make good use of that time and talk things through."

"Perhaps I shall leave sooner," Glorfindel said tentatively.

"Don't be a fool."

"An attachment now will only be detrimental to him," Glorfindel said. "I love him and he lives, that should be more than enough. I mourn... I mourn the loss of my direction, but I did not ever think that in emptying myself my heart would be filled. I wonder now if that is by the Valar's design after all. One more lesson to learn for this old servant. A new one after all this time, for one like me who has never known love and been blessed and cursed by it. Perhaps my battlefield was not the one that I thought, but the one inside. But it is such a small thing, isn't it, to teach this old fool to love? It is a small thing and I am an infinitesimal piece in the world. Why would they even bother. It escapes me, that kind of generosity."

"Well I for one am happy you found someone who commands your heart," Elrond assured him, "No matter what the gods may intend for you or any of us now."

"It hurts a bit," Glorfindel said after a long moment, punctuating it with a small, bittersweet laugh.

Elrond smiled, and Glorfindel saw traces of his own loves and losses in his wise, warm gaze. "It does, doesn't it?" he murmured.

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A prudent retreat, Glorfindel reflected, was not cowardice if part of a larger strategy. He was... regrouping. Yes. It was a most appropriate word, 'regrouping.' He gathered his scattered wits and the sundered splinters of his suddenly disordered life.

He skipped lunch, tea and the evening meal. He feigned weariness and kept his doors closed, with the most humorless and loyal foot soldier he could find assigned outside to keep careful watch of it. The determined young elf was doing a good job and for long hours, Glorfindel had both the rest he needed and the privacy he wanted.

He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

He wanted to commit to a proper course of action.

He also wanted to hide from a wood-elf who was almost certainly going to ask questions and, perhaps worse than that, say goodbye. Home was the first thing out of Legolas' mouth when he woke after all, and that was only right.

Sometime between dinner and the hours of sleep, however, Glorfindel heard Legolas outside his doors. He was speaking to the soldier, seeking entry. He started with formality.

"I wish to call upon the Lord Glorfindel, if I may."

Legolas switched tactics upon the initial rejection. "Oh unfit for company, is he? But I've been caring for him all this while, perhaps he has need of me." Another denial had him bringing out heavy weaponry. "But I am recovering myself, and have come all this way."

Glorfindel almost heard Legolas' blasted, imploring blue eyes deployed in full force, and all he could think was, _Hold fast, loyal soldier. Hold fast and don't betray me, you poor fool...!_

The young soldier was spared denying this manipulative request by the arrival of Elrond's sons. The twins, probably briefed by their father on Glorfindel's state of mind, asked Legolas to leave. The Prince of Mirkwood stopped short of pleading (as he does), but managed to wrangle a guarantee out of the twins, that he be immediately updated on Glorfindel's health.

The promise secured, Glorfindel heard him walk away and Elladan commanded Glorfindel's besieged guard to stand aside and let him through. Even when invoking his role as a healer and a noble of the House, he was denied.

 _This is becoming more trouble than it is worth_ , Glorfindel decided, and just as he was about to tell his guard to stand down, Elladan deployed weapons of his own. His twin, Elrohir, could always be relied upon for a distraction.

Glorfindel couldn't tell exactly what happened, but after a moment he heard his poor guard yelp, and suddenly Elladan popped his head into Glorfindel's room from a small gap opened at the doors.

"I will be away quickly," he assured the ancient warrior-lord, good-naturedly. "I am just here to redeem word I'd given to a persistent wood-elf and ascertain your health and well-being. Is the Lord Glorfindel still alive?"

Glorfindel growled at him.

"Good," said Elladan. "I wondered. For who but the dead could possibly send away the Prince of Mirkwood if he should come knocking upon your bedroom door."

Glorfindel sighed. "Good gods, go away, Elrohir." He liked joking at diminishing their identities and achievements by pretending he couldn't tell them apart.

"Peace," Elladan laughed. "You are alive and so I shall be off. I cannot linger here long. I mean to be in my own rooms, should Legolas go in search of another door upon which to knock."

Glorfindel snorted at him. It was a joke and theoretically not a bad one, but a most distracting, consuming thought nonetheless.

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Later that night, Glorfindel could not find rest and wished for air, soil and starlight. He stepped out of his rooms in his night robes and walked down the empty halls toward the gardens.

It was a cool, mildly breezy evening and he found the dull sounds of the rushing waters in the near distance, in concert with gently stirring branches and leaves to be soothing. They kept calling him farther and farther away from the main house, and he walked and walked until his feet brought him to where he and Legolas usually trained in the mornings.

Inexplicably, he found Legolas standing there.

The Mirkwood Prince was battle ready in his armor and weapons, and watched him approach with steely eyes and a tilted head. If he was as surprised by Glorfindel's presence as the Gondolin warrior-lord was by his, Legolas did not at all show it.

 _He looks dangerous_ , Glorfindel thought. Like the distorted version of the self, seen in a forbidden mirror. He looked like his own malevolent incarnation, especially in the silvery moonlight and the stirring winds.

In the short time since they met, Glorfindel knew Legolas in a strength defiant against illness and vulnerability, but he did not know him like this, unleashed, a warrior prince in unabashed glory. Yes, Legolas had been sure-footed and skilled even with disability, but Glorfindel never saw his lethality. It all but seeped out of him now, and it charged the air. He looked taller and bolder. He had always been lovely too, but now he was sublime, which was beauty at its most terrifying incarnation. This Legolas was not he of the woodsy summer. This was a wrathful storm.

He did not know if this is how Legolas was before blindness, or if it was an entirely new him, having been graced and empowered by the gods who had spared him from death. Glorfindel suspected it was a mix of both. No wonder Elrond's sons had been so shocked at the sight of Legolas ailing on the ground. The elf before him now, this was not one who needed a healer or a knight as champion. He needed reins, perhaps even a leash.

But then Legolas smiled slowly, openly, generously. And the full force of his glacial eyes turned from frigid cold to warm, inviting, immersive, sea. They lit with mischief.

"Do you wish to 'talk?'"

Glorfindel found himself grinning too, in memory of the time they drew their swords against each other, and he had asked Legolas if it was how they talked things through in his kingdom.

"It is late and I am unarmed," Glorfindel reasoned.

Legolas _tsked_. "I highly doubt that."

Glorfindel shrugged at having been caught in a lazy lie, and he drew out a knife from his boot. Legolas unsheathed his own twin white knives and lowered himself to a stance. The breezes whipped at his hair, and moonlight glinted from his blades.

 **TO BE CONCLUDED** in Chapter 5, which will come with my usual Author's Afterword and (possibly) a bonus fic :) 'Til then, wishing everyone all the best!


	5. Down This Road

**hello everyone!**

apologies for the later than usual update. RL is swamping me bad! As you may be able to see from the date of completion at the end of this, it's been done for the last few weeks. I just missed on posting it according to the preferred schedule. I hope y'all are still with me, and that you enjoy this conclusion to the tale (there will be a stand-alone epilogue that will be posted when I post my usual rambling author's afterwords though ;)) At any rate, thanks to all who are still with me, especially the indispensable reviewers who seriously power every single post. Seriously. I cannot thank you enough :) Without further ado:

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 **5: Down This Road**

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Legolas attacked first, experimental little swings meant to gage how well Glorfindel was, and how seriously the older warrior would play things. He also gaged if their weapons were a decent match. Their blades kissed. Glorfindel parried almost casually by his wrists, barely moving at all.

"This won't do," Legolas murmured, stepping back. He turned his knives in his hands, and offered the one on the left, hilt-first, to the other warrior. "It wouldn't be much of a challenge for me otherwise."

Glorfindel snorted at him but sheathed his boot knife and accepted the offer. The hilt was still warm from the other elf's touch, and it has been used so much that it was worn to fit Legolas' palm. Glorfindel imagined holding the prince's hand, rather than this poor approximation...

... He attacked first this time, a frontal assault, full-weight forward. Risky because it left him exposed. Legolas dodged with a graceful twist, and it was almost like a dance, how Legolas used the length of Glorfindel's arm to find a smooth and quick way to his back, where Legolas delivered a soft, hilt-tap to the other's shoulder. It was a love tap, barely even merited a moment's attention.

"That was too easy," Legolas hissed at him. "Take me seriously."

Glorfindel took a few wide, practice swings of the short, slim, elegant knife. "It is so light, and the construction is exquisite. It moves with the wind. It suits you. The length, though... you must get pretty close to your enemies with these."

"I am an archer first," Legolas said, "Carrying both long sword and bow sacrifices dexterity so I choose. I am most efficient from a shooting distance. When that space shrinks the close quarters work well with my knives."

"You are either too far or too near," Glorfindel said wryly. "Well. That is fitting too."

Legolas shook his head at him dismissively. "Could the elf with the wizard's tongue, currently speaking in riddles, please just come at me?"

Glorfindel did, this time taking into account the agility offered by the weapon and his opponent's ground-hungry, flamboyant style. The other elf was a mover on the field; fast, light on his feet, quick to adjust. Glorfindel could either play by these rules and try to move as quickly – at which case he could lose – or be more clever and pre-empt what Legolas would do and strike forcefully there.

Glorfindel faked a swing of the knife. Legolas adjusted to dodge it so quickly that the momentum of his body had him committing to the trajectory of his movement, which Glorfindel was expecting. Legolas thus dodged the sword strike, but was perfectly placed to receive a powerful blow from the older warrior's hand when he landed. Glorfindel hit him squarely on the chest with an open palm, right over his heart. A fist would have almost certainly sent him wheezing to the ground, but they were just playing.

 _For now._

The wood-elf kept his feet and rubbed at his chest but grinned at Glorfindel in appreciation. "Ah, my lord. There you are."

It was good, rough play.

Glorfindel was a more centered fighter, conserving of energy while Legolas flit and flew, and had the speed, stamina and flexibility for it. They showed the best of each other, these two golden elves in the generous moonlight, caught in a lethal dance beneath the stars. Their blades kissed again, again, striking each other in sharp, little pangs. The twin knives sang when they slid and skidded against each other. The opponents, each in their own turns, thrust forward and parried, pushed ahead and pulled away. Their warm breaths created puffs of smoke in the cold air as their chests heaved up and down from the exertion of their efforts. In this match, the entirety of their long, elegant bodies were weapons, and the knives in their hands were but the smallest of its annexes. They grabbed and punched, turned and twisted and curled and arced. The winds kicked up, and the leaves of trees around them shivered in enthusiastic applause.

Glorfindel almost wished it would never end, but that was not the way of things. He stepped away from the dance and Legolas, reading correctly that it was not part of the play, did not pursue him. He sheathed his knife. Glorfindel turned his borrowed weapon over in his hands and returned it to its owner, hilt-first too, just as it was politely given.

"Am I so abhorrent that you have once again taken to avoiding me unless it is at the business-end of a knife?" Legolas asked as he reclaimed his weapon. His tone was not accusatory, but rather earnest, seemingly searching Glorfindel for answers as much as he sought them in himself.

"You disrupt my otherwise well-ordered life," Glorfindel said wryly, instead of evading the question. "A few days to myself is hardly a lot to ask."

"Would you leave a beloved garden so long unwatered?"

"You're a wildflower," Glorfindel said with a helpless, trembling smile, "Occasionally a pesky weed. You'll survive."

At the word, 'survive,' Legolas' eyes narrowed and his jaws set. "I am trying to understand what happened to me. Do you know...?"

Glorfindel figured he could say either yes or no and neither one of them would be a lie. He settled on yes. "I know what happened to you, but I do not understand it. I cannot speak of it with clarity or conviction."

"I was dying," Legolas said.

 _You were dead_ , Glorfindel almost corrected him, _Twice over_.

"I long felt it to be the case," Legolas said, "and suddenly there it was. I'd been rundown for so long and when it came it was... warm respite. Not terrifying cold. The pain was distant, and growing more so."

"It won't always be that way." Glorfindel winced. He did not think of this unexpected wrinkle. In asking the gods to spare Legolas' life in this instance, could he have doomed him to a worse death? Legolas suffered horribly, yes, but one could certainly do much worse than perishing in a beautiful, peaceful home surrounded by those who loved you. _One could do so much worse..._

Legolas accepted this with a nod. He hesitated before asking, "What did you have to do with it, this... this second life of mine? They are saying you breathed life into me. They are saying you healed me. They are saying you gave me health at the expense of your own."

"Do I look diminished?"

"No..."

"I prayed," Glorfindel said, and while true it was incomplete. But still true. "I prayed. But that couldn't have been any more or less than what others were doing."

He did not say what Legolas' "resurrection" had personally cost him because he wouldn't know what to do about Legolas' inevitable, misplaced gratitude. He also did not tell the wood-elf that his resurrection meant he now had a job to do, a calling to service that he must stay true to. Glorfindel did not know how to say these things, and thankfully he did not feel the need to. He was confident that Legolas would be steered to the proper course and that when the time came and he was needed, by Legolas' own judgments and merits, _he will gift the gods with his deeds_. Glorfindel trusted his beloved would be true, not to a promise forced upon him by Glorfindel to the gods, but to himself. Because all Legolas had to be was himself, and he would do the right thing. It was why he was loved, after all.

Legolas reached for the other elf's face, and Glorfindel let his cheek be touched. He closed his eyes and cherished the trembling shyness of it.

"I thank you for your prayers," Legolas said quietly. "But if your yearnings were granted – why do you hurt?"

Glorfindel opened his eyes, and settled them on Legolas' earnest, searching blue gaze. "The gods may have restored you for me, princeling, but not _to_ me. Do you understand the difference? I told you, did I not? I do not see you in my life, nor do I see myself in yours. You will be called to greater things, one day. Your golden head, your bow and your heart. Wherever these lead, I cannot follow."

Legolas lowered his hand, and pressed his lips together in thought. "And so I survive to do the things you've foreseen. But I find such grand plans beyond my imagining at the moment. The immediate things are proving rather difficult. First I am trying to get home." He paused and looked away. "And second - I am trying to find a way to say goodbye to you."

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, and he felt a tingling at the edges of his senses, like the barest, gentlest mist kissing his skin, the teasing tendrils of a nearby raging waterfall. He took a deep breath.

"On the first I suggest clever escape," he said wryly. The tendrils skittered away, as the tentative reach for a connection shied off at the gentle rebuff. "The Lord Elrond will otherwise keep you here until you are the halest elf in all of Arda, which is really the only time he will manage to regain his nerve to let you leave."

"And on the second?" Legolas asked softly.

"On the second, I propose you skip it entirely."

"Not very good at goodbyes, are we?"

"Horrible at it."

Legolas gave him a pointed look. "I can believe that."

Glorfindel took a deep, fortifying breath. "Legolas. I care for you, deeply. But – goodbye."

"You were not exaggerating your lack of prowess in this."

A smile tugged at Glorfindel's lips. "Make me laugh now, why don't you?"

Legolas smiled back. "Well... maybe we can postpone it. I will still be here for a few more days, after all."

"I won't be," said Glorfindel.

"And pray tell, why not?"

"I need to learn to walk away from you. I need to learn to be without you."

"Then be without me when you are without me!" said the other in exasperation. "I've told you before – do not waste me. Do not waste chances. After life and death and after everything you've seen, you would still dare to wait? Is time not precious enough?"

"I have the courage to wait," Glorfindel corrected, "and the faith that it will not be for nothing. In the meantime, I have to learn. I have to learn to be without you because it is going to be near impossible, do you understand? I have to learn because restraint will only come from a lifetime of habits. I can't devote myself to you now and leash myself to your side, and then when the day comes that there are things you must be called to do and places you must go where I perforce should not follow – am I just expected to release you? Can you love that way? How can you expect me to stop and simply let you go?

"If we take this any further," Glorfindel continued, "I will not have the stomach to let you. I will force myself to your side, I will rationalize my place there, and I will have the ability to ruin everything. I don't need godly foresight to know I will trail you to the ends of the earth if you do not dissuade me. Even now I am certain, if you ask – I will come with you to your kingdom and make the same blood-promise upon it, if only that it gives you joy."

"If I ask...?"

"Don't do it."

Legolas sighed. He rubbed at the sides of his head as if he had an ache, and Glorfindel could not help but step forward before he could stop himself.

"Are you unwell?"

"What?" Legolas asked in confusion, before he realized what he was doing and lowered his hands. "I was just trying to think."

"What is there to think on?" Glorfindel asked. "Say your goodbyes or don't, either way they will bring us to the same thing - the roads away."

Legolas, bereft of words and running out of options, looked at him imploringly and took a step forward. Glorfindel took a step back, and raised his hand to clearly ask him to stop. The younger elf did. He lowered his head and looked away.

"I am not in the habit of forcing my attentions on anyone," he said quietly. "Lord Elrond thinks he will keep me for a week. I'm leaving in three days, no more."

"I will leave sooner-"

"Don't," Legolas snapped, reading right through him. He paused for a moment to gather himself before continuing more calmly, "Please. What I meant to say was that I leave in three days and if you change your mind about things, do not hesitate to come to me at any time. If you do not come, I swear you will not find any bother from me while we are both here. Just... please do not leave so soon on my account. You are not fully well yet. I swear I will not bother you."

Glorfindel looked at him for a long moment, considering a denial, considering changing his mind even now, but he simply nodded.

"Good," Legolas said, and he released a long breath. "Good."

The winds stirred around them, and Glorfindel stood rooted to where he was, trying to find it in himself to leave. Legolas stood staring at him, decidedly not making things any easier.

"What are you even doing here?" Glorfindel asked.

"Training in the dark," Legolas replied uncertainly. "I've come to expect great things from my other senses and I am learning to use them better. What strength they gained in my blindness must not be lost." He tilted his head and looked at the older warrior thoughtfully, wordlessly asking him more or less the same question.

What are _you still_ doing here?

Glorfindel sighed and shook his head at himself. Even now, he thought bitterly, even now he couldn't seem to let this one go. How is he to let Legolas leave for a greater danger in the future if he could not even walk away from him in the peace of a beautiful night in Imladris?

 _I need to learn to be without you.._.

"You've shed your escorts again."

 _I need to learn to be without you..._

"I tired them out," Legolas said wryly. "But I am safe here."

"Good," Glorfindel said.

 _I need to learn to be without you..._

"I ah, I shall leave you to it, then," Glorfindel said and he turned away swiftly, before he could change his mind. He could feel Legolas boring holes on his back as he walked away, and he dared not look back. He returned to his rooms, no more at peace than when he had set out.

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Leglolas promised he wouldn't bother Glorfindel, but that did not mean he was not bothersome by incident. It was surprisingly hard to dodge Legolas in the remaining three days of the prince's stay in Imladris, even in the Last Homely House's sprawling magnificence.

 _You make the vast world seem so small_ , Glorfindel thought, for he always seemed to see that golden head somewhere in the periphery of his vision, just as the elf who owned it was always lingering in the edges of his mind. Whenever he heard swords sing or arrows soar, or the trees shake, or felt the warm kiss of the sun, or saw the glory of the moonlight or the twinkling brilliance of the stars, or the smell of the dewy grass, or _good gods_ even the smell of orc armor and bread and flour. Legolas was everywhere but nowhere. Too near, too far. That maddening half-presence nearly drove Glorfindel out of Imladris sooner than Legolas' impending, hard-fought departure, but if there was one elf in all of Rivendell whose escape was being watched more closely than Legolas', it was Glorfindel's.

 _You make three days feel like an eternity_.

He stayed in his rooms for most of that time. It was as much a solace from Legolas as it was from the renewed interest he was getting after "helping" to "resurrect" the "dead" prince ( _good gods!_ ). He was used to attention, but he was in no mood for questions. He also took to taking meals at irregular hours, but a chance encounter with a skulking Legolas who was doing the exact same thing in an effort to steer away from _him_ , quickly dissuaded the practice and Glorfindel just resignedly took his food in his rooms.

He was pressed by custom to attend the farewell dinner at the Hall of Fire, held in honor of the Prince and his party of Mirkwood elves who were leaving the next morning. It was a high formal affair, and Glorfindel sat in his most elaborate robes at a place of honor on the main table with Elrond, his twin sons, Imladris's counselors and the guest of honor himself, the Prince of Mirkwood. It was a long, slim table and they were seated far away from each other - but in painfully easy view.

 _He can be so shamelessly beautiful when he wants to be_ , Glorfindel thought. That night, carrying the badge of his honored home and his father's name, Legolas became the royal prince with absolute intent. On ordinary days he was casually aristocratic, but on a formal event like this, he bordered on ethereal. He had foregone the warrior's braids and wore his long, pale gold hair burnished and loose, save for a small circlet on his forehead that caught and glinted in the light. His ceremonial tunic and layered robes were in shades of dark, deep green silk brocade that looked almost black, setting off his alabaster skin dramatically. When he walked, he dragged along a regal train with artless abandon, and on four of his fingers were rings of twisted branches with fruits of colored stones. He looked distant. He looked like a stranger.

They gave each other the occasional glance and polite smile and even engaged in short bursts of shallow conversation when prompted, but otherwise kept away from each other and focused on other company. When the wine started flowing, however, they more than once found themselves needing to address questions about their now shared history of resurrection, and this they handled with as much grace and studied ambiguity as they could muster. Elrond and his sons, who knew more than the other elves of the complexities of Legolas and Glorfindel, were also relied upon to deflect any awkwardness.

Still, Glorfindel was relieved when the evening wound down and he was able to sneak away from the lingering merrymakers and escape to his rooms. He sank on his bed gratefully, with little care for his own formal robes, of shining whites and silvers as compared to Legolas' deep, absorbing darks. Legolas, speaking of, would be leaving early the next morning.

 _He might even be gone by the time I wake up._

The very thought of it made his heart... not hurt perhaps, but sting. Just a quick, fleeting, flick of a finger of the gods.

 _I hope he is gone by the time I wake up_.

He fell to a restless sleep, thinking -

 _He'd better be gone by the time I wake up._

#

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#

He was.

Glorfindel did not ask about it and was not duly informed, but something about the House felt changed. There was a sudden quiet, a sudden hollowness, fewer things to look forward to. Rooms occupied for months were being shuttered, the beddings packed away, the furniture swathed in covering cloths. Cups, cutlery and plates brought out for larger company were being put away in boxes and closets. The House was making its own goodbyes to the departed guests. It was a melancholy feeling.

Glorfindel found his way to the armory, where a few soldiers were gathered for their respective routines; some were coming in from patrols and others headed out. Some were cleaning their weapons, others preparing them for training. They too had diminished in verve upon the departure of their stimulating Mirkwood guests. He was contemplating unleashing some of his frustrations in either a sparring session or joining one of the patrols, but one of Imaldris' young pageboys saw him and called for him, bearing a long package wrapped in thick brown paper and twine.

"My lord Glorfindel!" said the elfling as he offered the package up to the ancient warrior. Glorfindel took it hesitantly.

"Before he left," said the young elf, "The Prince Legolas left instructions that this be handed to you."

Glorfindel nodded and accepted the offering. His presence had caught the attention of the soldiers there, but even more so when they noticed the odd package and overheard from whom it was. Without sparing them a second glance, Glorfindel accosted one of the empty side rooms of the armory and commandeered it for himself. He closed the door, and placed the package upon a table there.

He unwound the twine; it looked like one of those worn and weathered ones that held Legolas' warriors' braids. Glorfindel closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay at himself. He set about his task of opening the package more intently.

The brown papers fell away to reveal a simple but elegant, long, plain, varnished box of almost black wood. By its size and slimness, he already had an inkling of what would be inside: a bow.

He growled under his breath when he opened the box and found he'd been right. Sitting on a bed of velvet was Legolas' bow, the same bow from his visions, the same bow that had always been on the Mirkwood elf's hands. It was an intricate beauty, but infused with character from having been well-used but assiduously kept.

Laying demurely beside the bow was a small sheet of folded paper and a thick lock of golden hair, long as Glorfindel's ring finger and tied together in the same twine used in the packaging. He reached for it with shaking hands, but dared not lift it. He settled instead on the letter.

" _...and my heart,_ " it began in Legolas' aggressive cursive, and Glorfindel for a long moment wondered if he'd missed a page, until he realized he'd spoken to Legolas several times of his visions and the Mirkwood Prince was conjuring them with this unexpected present.

 _Golden hair._

 _Legolas' Bow._

 _...and his heart._

Glorfindel's fingers tightened on the letter, and through blurry vision he read all the rest of what was written in it.

" _I do not know what else your visions show of me doing grand deeds. As far as I'm concerned, the greatest feat I've ever done with these three things is winning your love. Yours always._ "

Glorfindel fisted his hand, crumpling the letter caught within it, and slammed the letter down on the table. It rattled menacingly. His body trembled, and he growled low in his throat. Anger came first, because he did not understand how he felt or what he could do about it.

 _Would that fool elf leave for a long journey without his weapon of choice? Does he not know he has important things to do, and that this weapon and his personal caution are necessary? Why is he so damned reckless? Why must he vex me so?_

He caught his breath, and gathered his composure. He forced himself to release his hold on the letter. He flattened it upon the table, and worked out the creases he had put there in his impotent frustration and anger.

 _Perhaps I should return it to him_ , came the sudden, unbidden, tempting thought. He shoved the letter into the box, caressed the strands of golden hair there and the handle of the bow, before shutting the box with a snap.

 _They couldn't have gone far._

Bearing the box in his arms, he ran for his horse.

#

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#

A royal entourage traveling in leisure, heavily equipped for a weeks' long journey, was no match for the Lord Glorfindel upon his mighty horse, traversing roads he'd trod for ages, moving at a breakneck speed.

He entertained no hesitations in this mad ride, moving only forward, only forward. Once he'd set his mind to catching up with the Mirkwood elves, all he could think about was that he hoped Legolas hasn't changed his mind. That his entourage did not move too quickly or deviated from the usual routes. That he would get to them quickly, before he lost his nerve.

The thundering footfalls of his horse announced his approach to the wood-elves, not that he made any intentions at stealth. When he saw them in the near distance, riders were already circled around the Prince, weapons pointed outwards.

He looked upon the sight with much relief. His heart soared. It _soared, soared, soared_ , at the barest sight of the golden head of Legolas still within his reach. The Mirkwood Prince was resplendent in his full armor as he sat tall upon a mighty white warhorse, already testy at being kept waiting and still. The Prince's face was seriously set, and upon seeing Glorfindel, he called for his soldiers to lower their weapons and make way.

They did, and Glorfindel slowed his ride to a canter as he approached them. Legolas told his soldiers to hang back, and he rode to meet the ancient warrior of Gondolin, halfway. A few of his men, following protocol, trailed slightly behind him for protection.

"Is everything well, Lord Glorfindel?" Legolas asked worriedly as he dismounted from his horse, yielded the reins to a subordinate, and walked briskly towards the new arrival. It struck the ancient warrior, belatedly, how an elf riding madly toward them from Imladris could indicate a serious situation.

"Has there been an attack?" Legolas asked urgently, "Do you require assistance?"

From where Legolas stood, he saw the box that Glorfindel had secured on ropes along the side of his horse. His brows furrowed in confusion, and then widened with angry realization. He looked up at Glorfindel accusingly, eyes afire.

"You deftly evade goodbyes but you ride all this way to return my gift to me?" he seethed at the older warrior. "Are you really so cruel as that? As perverse? As callous? As-"

The Prince of Mirkwood, thought Glorfindel fondly, had an impressive vocabulary. He took in all manner of synonymous insults as he dismounted his horse. Around them, company diminished. Glorfindel had never seen Mirkwood elves cower from anything, but they knew enough to start scampering from Legolas' seldom-unleashed, princely temper (and combative diction). With half-hearted excuses, invented duties and unintelligible murmurs, they bowed and backed away until only Legolas and Glorfindel remained on this section of the woody path.

"It wasn't that far," Glorfindel said dryly. He stood eye-to-eye with the supremely angry elven Prince. Legolas' cheeks were flushed, his eyes ablaze, and his chest rose and fell in his rage.

"I would give to you anything, everything!" Legolas said, "But you've refused them all! Will you take nothing from me? Nothing at all?"

Glorfindel tried to find the appropriate words. Finding none that would properly encase all of his longings, he reached for the hard, scale armor resting over Legolas' chest instead, and pulled him into his arms.

 _This, I will take. This I will take now, and its memory I will take with me ever afterwards, on every journey, on every day, to the grave and well beyond it_.

Glorfindel pulled away just far enough that he could lower his mouth to the other elf's, and Legolas returned the gesture with a kind of hungry, bruising affection. His hands clawed at where Glorfindel's jaw met his neck, and his fingers tangled in the older warrior's hair. When Glorfindel tried to pull away - _good gods is it really proper for wood-elf princelings to bite when they kiss?_ \- Legolas' teeth took a declarative nip at his lower lip as if to say, _No, not yet_. The Mirkwood Prince then covered the older warrior's gasp of surprise with his mouth. Glorfindel gladly submitted.

They both emerged from the kiss slowly, bright-eyed, swollen-lipped, disheveled and breathless. They stared at each other, and another vision struck Glorfindel, then.

Of a kiss that was not goodbye, but _hello_.

Time, it was such a strange thing. He saw his past as if it was still about to come and his future as if he'd already lived it. This was not the end. This was only the beginning. He had never loved and now he felt as if he had loved forever. It colored his memories of the past, and absorbed his longings for the future - because somewhere inside he knew that the journey away will become the journey coming back. The road will turn, and the paths that draw one away will be the same one to bring them home. Legolas' retreating back will become his beautiful countenance coming forward. The embrace of parting will become a reunion. And all the questions that their love has raised will be answered by that love itself.

"You forgot something," Glorfindel told him wryly, but he could feel his own eyes burn with deathly serious passion. He knew they yelled the words he could not say. "Only a fool elf would travel without his primary weapon."

Legolas' lips quirked into a smile. "Only a fool elf would not have more than one." Indeed, Glorfindel realized, the wood-elf before him did indeed have a bow on his back, of a slightly different make from the one he had left for Glorfindel.

"Do you just hand the damned things away to every lover?"

"We're not lovers," Legolas laughed.

 _Good gods, that laugh..._

"I own several bows," Legolas said lightly. "Wood weathers, sometimes breaks. They require the occasional maintenance, repairs and re-stringing, in the meantime the archer's work must continue. I own several. Swordsmen harbor an unhealthy attachment to their named blades, I think. I harbor not the same affliction."

"I have only one unhealthy attachment," Glorfindel said, and watched as Legolas' smile grew broad and bright.

"But lest you think what I left you is without value, I earned my captaincy with that," Legolas said. "I've had it the longest too. But I would never have made the journey home unarmed." He tilted his head at the older warrior thoughtfully. "I think you knew that."

Glorfindel did not answer. They were still close enough that he could flick playfully at Legolas' hair. He noticed then, the irregular jagged ends on the fine strands. This was where Legolas had cut, to gift him with his distinct memento. It was hard to miss.

"Maybe I did," Glorfindel conceded. "Maybe I wished to see you. But I need to make it clear – I am not here to follow where you go."

"I gathered," Legolas said, nodding at Glorfindel's house robes, for he had fled with whatever it was he had on. The Mirkwood elf started unclasping his traveling cloak. He dusted it off, and wound it over the other warrior's shoulders.

"I suppose you have more than one of this as well."

Legolas shrugged.

"Legolas..."

"I will never be cold again, just because you were here."

"I am pretty sure you will be cold again at some point," Glorfindel teased him, but he took a deep breath of the traveling cloak. It was still warm from Legolas' body, and smelled of him; a mild soap and inexplicably of rain-kissed leaves. He wanted to keep it, and was confident Legolas' subordinates were not likely to let their prince freeze along the length of their journey home.

"We wood-elves are a hardy bunch," Legolas assured him dryly. Glorfindel was pleased to have been dissuaded from returning it. He nodded.

The two golden elves stood before each other, just drinking in each other's sight and barest presence. Glorfindel ached to stay, but he also ached to go away. As if understanding his predicament, Legolas smiled slowly, and his eyes glistened and warmed.

"When all is done," he said determinedly, "I will see you again, _my_ lord Glorfindel."

The ancient noble warrior of Gondolin caught it, the slight difference in the tone. The canny wood-elf had turned an honorary title of respect and submission into a possessive.

Legolas did them both a favor, and he turned away to leave. Glorfindel watched him walk. It was a confident, powerful stride ahead and away. He watched Legolas rejoin his traveling party and mount his warhorse, swinging long, mighty legs over his beautiful, tempestuous beast's broad back. With a signal to his troops, Legolas commanded them forward. The wood-elf was tough as nails and did not look back, and Glorfindel was almost impressed. He in contrast stood rooted to where he was, determined to watch until the barest speck of that pale golden head vanished from his sight.

 _The world_ , he thought, _it changes when one loves and is loved. It is overwhelmingly wide and suddenly it shrinks, focusing into the small figure approaching (or the one leaving). It is the same scene and I ride this way often, but you were here, and it is made relevant and unforgettable. This is the barest of your gifts. I've seen you turn burning into a sweet summer. I was anguished, but you lived and suddenly I was blessed. I am on the road that would have been goodbye, but with a biting kiss you transformed it into the beginning of a larger journey._

 _In all these times and spaces, the only difference between a dreadful sorrow and the greatest event of my life was a token change - you were there and you loved me._

There was a turn in the path that would have rendered Legolas out of sight. Before he made it, Glorfindel noticed a subtle slowing in the other elf's forward pace.

Legolas turned toward him one final time. The breezes kicked back at his hair, and the sunlight caught his brilliant blue gaze. Even from their growing distance their eyes met, and thus having been caught in a moment of weakness, Legolas gave him a wide smile and a helpless shrug, before turning away and spurring his horse forward.

Glorfindel could not help it. He laughed aloud, alone, a half-mad elf on the now-lonely road. He mounted his horse and took the ride back to Imladris at an easy pace, cherishing the sweet sting in his heart.

 _I cannot wait until the next time we see each other again._

 **THE END**

August 8, 2018

*TO BE FOLLOWED BY AN EPILOGUE, "A Promise Told," AT THE END OF THE AFTERWORD :)


	6. Author's Afterword

**hey guys!**

Massive thanks to all who read, bookmarked, favorited and especially to all who reviewed the previously posted, concluding chapter of _These Visions of You_. Personalized messages will follow soon, but I thought we should kick off the weekend with a double post :)

This post is going to contain the **Afterword** for those who want to know the method behind the madness, and will be immediately followed by the **the E** **pilogue to _These Visions of You - "A Promise Told."_** It is this last one that caused the delay in posting. **Somehow it became a fic all on its own** , and I wasn't sure if I should post the epilogue here in its entirety as promised, or if it should be a separate, three-part post. I decided on the former, so it appears here in all that it is. **A Warning though...** the epilogue has very mature themes and it does not have the hopeful, happy, youthful note of the end of _These Visions of You_. It is therefore skippable, depending on how you feel about that stuff :) As always - and especially when something feels risky, as this epilogue does - comments and constructive criticism are not just welcome but often yearned haha, but at your leisure. Mostly I just wish all a happy weekend and I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Without further ado:

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 **AFTERWORD**

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 **CONTENTS:**

I. The Inspiration

A. Why a Legolas / Glorfindel Romance?

B. Let's Talk About Slash and the Power of Love

C. Mood Music, Anyone?

II. The Characters

A. Legolas

B. Glorfindel

C. The Valar

D. The Rivendell Elves

E. The Original Characters

III. Acknowledgements

IV. Bonus Fic

 **EPILOGUE – "A Promise Told"**

 _In and around the War of the Ring, Glorfindel and Legolas steal away snatches of time together. Three interludes._

NOTE: Also known as, my attempt at writing a one-shot, short epilogue that somehow turned into a full-blown, 10,000-word-ish fic, lol. MATURE THEMES AND KIND OF SUPER SAD. Skippale if you are happy with how the fic had already ended. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED, lol ;)

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 **I. The Inspiration**

A. Why a Legolas / Glorfindel Romance? 

So it was rainy and I gotta admit, I found myself craving for something sadly romantic. Something deep but quiet, slow and immersive. It was always going to feature Legolas of course, but I found myself steered toward a character I've never written before, not even peripherally – the ancient, legendary, re-embodied elven lord and warrior, Glorfindel.

It was an inexplicable impulse, especially as I think I've only come across the character in fanfiction here and there (though there are plenty available, my tastes run to movie-verse, and I have not read the ones that paired him with Legolas). But his esteemed status intrigued me, and **as a Legolas fangirl, I felt it spoke a lot about the wood-elf if he would be able to make a conquest that no one else has been able to make**.

Once I started doing my research though, **I grew increasingly fascinated by these two characters' "shared history."** And by that, I mean not that they are similar aside from being elves, skilled and golden-y (Glorfindel's is an objectively larger legend I can readily concede to, even as a Legolas fangirl). What I refer to is that they were in a sense almost interchangeable in terms of who would be part of The Fellowship in _The Lord of the Rings_.

In some of the site references I looked at, **it seems there was an original intent by Tolkien to put Glorfindel as the elven representative in the Fellowship**. As we all know he eventually decided on Legolas instead. Glorfindel is also notably absent in the PJ films (save for a debated cameo), where a major act was instead done by Arwen (in the 1970s animation adaptation, it was reportedly Legolas who replaced him).

Either way, **there seems to be a Legolas-replaced-Glorfindel issue** , and many folks in the fandom are asking WHYYYYYYYY?, and if it was really better for the Fellowship that the "replacement" happened, for Glorfindel would have been such an asset to them (probably more than Legolas just by objective power and skillful experience) if he was the one who went instead.

 **So why was the Balrog Slayer, so commanding a character in canon, not sent with the Fellowship?** Wouldn't the quest have been much easier with someone like Glorfindel around? It's not like he wasn't available, he was already in Rivendell. Some fans and purists find the absence of Glorfindel in general (either in adaptations or transformative works) as an injustice to a compelling character.

 **The answer of why Legolas was sent as opposed to Glorfindel has been answered by many much smarter than me** – the ancient elf-lord's powers were not optimal in a mission of stealth. Furthermore, as an elf of Mirkwood, Legolas would have theoretically been more representative of a 'free people of Middle-Earth,' which was what the Fellowship was supposed to be comprised of. As for why they both couldn't come, it is said that Elrond kept the Fellowship at nine to match the Nazgul, which was more fitting to Tolkien's characteristic depictions of parallels and dynamics between good vs. evil.

 **I thought of finding another answer to that question. In _These Visions of You_ , Glorfindel really was the one who was supposed to go with the Fellowship, but he gave up his place out of love for Legolas.**

Which begs the question - Why would it be considered generous to give someone else your job, hahaha? I felt that Glorfindel was a living legend by the time he came back to life, beloved and revered. But even with his power and his position, there was a kind of poverty in being an emissary of the Valar, sent back for a purpose not unlike the Maiar. He was in a sense, like an impoverished priest devoted to a duty, just like Gandalf the Grey with his humble vestments. Glorfindel's purpose was all he had. But purpose isn't just a job. It is an opportunity to achieve, another feather in his cap, more stuffing for his already-outsize legend. It was all that he had, the only thing he could give, and all of it he had given up so that Legolas may live. I felt there was love and generosity in that emptying of the self.

 **Incidentally, Legolas' temporary blindness in _These Visions of You_ sharpened his other senses**, such that I felt by the time he took his place as the elven representative in the Fellowship, he really did have a unique, exemplary skill to offer the group.

 **A few "easter eggs" to those interested** : their shared history and "replace-ability" with each other is visualized in several scenes in the fic. Their golden hair often gets tangled. In their final fight scene, they also share Legolas' twin knives, one apiece, halves of a whole. And after Glorfindel's sacrifice, they share one more trait too – being "resurrected."

B. Let's Talk About Slash and the Power of Love.

 **I understand that slash isn't for everyone** , and I've written them (rather tamely I know) here and there but am pretty sparse myself in terms of seeking and reading them. But sometimes the mood takes. Creatively speaking though, **I did not approach this as an M/M Romance but simply as a Romance**.

Somehow though, **I find that anytime I write slash, the piece becomes a kind of manifesto of my personal beliefs on love**. I think because there is a recognition of how hard it is for LGBTQ+ people in RL to have easy access to that love, and we writers are inextricably shaped by the contexts in which we live.

Interestingly, when I wrote _Love, War_ years ago (a Legolas / Aragorn tragedy), I wrote about how love skips the body and goes straight for the soul, that the body was in a sense a barrier, a prison that death frees us from forcibly, while love is the kind of freedom from mortal coil that is chosen. I addressed the difficulties of M/M love then, partly because of my own reservations but also because, narratively speaking, Aragorn and Legolas both had responsibilities to their kingdoms and to say, Arwen.

In contrast, These Visions of You is actually pretty absent any acknowledgement that a romance between two males is anomalous. It's just a romance. Love is love, as they say nowadays. It does not even differentiate romantic love from any other kind of love, including that of the gods for their creations. It's just... love.

 **The Power of Love**. In Tolkien's world, that is no small thing. It has shown to be both a creative force and a destructive force. It moves everything. Heaven and earth are shaped and reshaped due to the love of the gods for the creator's children. Even the stars were made for the elves, according to their legends. In the movies, Aragorn is motivated by his love for the fading Arwen. Frodo is buffered by the love and devotion of Sam. Even Gollum has been the subject of compassion – first by the "over-kindliness" of the Mirkwood elves (which led to his escape during an Orc attack), and then when Frodo displays mercy upon him. These, as we know, are seemingly small acts with outsize and unimaginable consequences – all because of compassion.

I was reading an essay on this a few years ago and the question was, **Did Frodo fail in his quest?** And the answer that fascinated me was 'no' - because even if theoretically he failed in refusing to toss the ring into the fires, maybe his real test was how he dealt with the wretched creature Gollum. His test was kindness, rather than in the display of strength. I liked that idea – that the battles in the WOTR were about being good and kind and in loving, rather than in brute strength and arms. **In the LOTR universe, wars and battles and magical and military abilities are "hard power," but it is love and compassion, the softest power, which really affects outcomes.**

 _These Visions of You_ keeps to that perspective. That if love can conquer death, maybe it can save them from ruin too.

C. Mood Music, Anyone?

Listening to music helps me form scenes in my head, and sometimes, certain lines pop out. It's kinda old-school (that's how I roll, lol), but I heard **Barry Manilow's _Somewhere Down the Road_** at a restaurant and the words, " _I know that heart of yours will come to see that you belong with me_ " popped out at me. I like the resigned, endeared tone of "that heart of yours" and it eventually came out here as " _What pray tell, does the lord Glorfindel know of this heart of mine_?" _Somewhere Down the Road_ quickly became a big and surprising inspiration for me lyrically, because it was also the source of the sentiment that the couple was parting now, but it was only the beginning of something larger rather than an ending. The Chapter 5 title is an homage to the song :) Another old-school inspo came via **_Somewhere, Somehow_ by Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant** which has thematic similarities to the former.

Stylistically though, a song that put me in the mood is **_To The Top_ by Twin Shadow**. The pulsing, mounting beats, the rousing chorus, and they do a thing near the end that takes my breath away (unless I'm just imagining it), a slight distortion to the timing that fits with the message of timing not being right for two people :)

* * *

 **II. The Characters**

A. Legolas.

 **His Injuries**. When I write the pseudo-"scientific" medical parts of my LOTR fics, I try to determine the kinds of treatments that might have been available to the fictional world. Of course there is a significant infusion of magic and spirituality, but there had to be some technique and technology too.

The biggest clue to that technique and technology, for me, is the weapons. I use weapons as a benchmark on what kind of technology they may have had, match it to a time period in our real human history, then see the medical options available there. I know that sounds crazy but it's how I reconcile maintaining a medieval fantasy feeling while writing a detailed h/c.

For example, I think of LOTR as pre-wide-use-gunpowder Western warfare, though Sauron's "bomb" used at the siege of Helms Deep (some fans debate on whether it is gunpowder or magic or both) may indicate some availability too. So I look at our real human history and play around that timeline. I examine the war injuries and available treatments to see what might fit.

What Legolas went through in _These Visions of You_ was what we may now know as traumatic brain injury (not hard to imagine given the Orc fighting style and weaponry), which affected his sight and gave him symptoms of post-concussion syndrome in the recurring headaches and seizures. Sounds like a death sentence in the old world but that was actually not the case.

I was surprised that a treatment to relieve pressure in brain injuries called "trepanning" has been around for thousands over thousands of years and may very well be the world's first surgical procedure, which dates back to prehistoric times (archeological evidence is considerable).

So for anyone wondering – yes, I do believe Legolas could have had "brain surgery" with what knowledge and tools the elves may have had, which would have been far more sophisticated than that which was available to our real-life Neolithic men (who did primitive versions of trepanning).

As for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation - this has been officially around since the 1700s, so I suspect it would have been unofficial practice before that time. CPR came much later in the 1950s (I think); this is why, in _These Visions of You_ , the description is vaguer when it comes to chest compressions. The story includes mentions of pressing upon the belly, which was part of the older practice.

As for Legolas' sudden, rapid deterioration toward the end, it was loosely modeled after someone having a stroke. While inconclusive, links between strokes and prior experience of concussions are being examined.

This is all geeky stuff, but sometimes I just need a small amount of research to better anchor for my fictional flights of fancies. Less fictional is lying on the cool floor when tormented by a headache. The model for this one? Personal experience with migraines, vertigo and most importantly - heck yes, hangovers! hahaha. Anyways, I hope it's not too much!

 **Whenever I write this character, one of the things I wonder about is if I am exploring a new side while being fairly representative of how he is commonly perceived (and loved)**.

See, I adore the term for fan-made things (like fiction, videos, etc.) stemming from original creations: **"Transformative works."** With that term in mind, I often wonder if the fanfiction that I write contributes something original to a work that is technically unoriginal, and if it isn't just gratuitous (not that there is anything wrong with that and sometimes I also indulge lol, but it is not my most creatively enriching preference). I love fanfiction because I think all written work is a live thing. It does not and should not end with the writer's perspective, and it will stay relevant with re-reading, re-interpretation and in the case of fanfiction – continuing inspiration. But what can I write of Legolas that is either new to the readers or new to me as a writer?

 **A New Angle?** _The Hobbit_ films unleashed something in me when I finally got to see them like, last year hahaha... it opened up Mirkwood culture as distinct from that of other elves', so suddenly I had a whole new world with which to situate my favorite character. Since then, I've written how Legolas comes home changed, how he grew up, how he deals with his legendary father, how he is beloved by his subjects and comrades, how he functions as an heir, etc. These are whole new things for me that I've not really delved into before.

In _These Visions of You_ , that Legolas-of-Mirkwood version of the character that was introduced to my imagination by The Hobbit films is courtlier. He flirts, he is comfortable with privilege and the service of others, he is unabashedly royal, far more dangerous than I first thought, and a little exotic. Mostly though, this is also my first post-Hobbit Legolas in love. That mix of lethality and love was a fun experiment for me and I hope he came across as still identifiable.

B. Glorfindel.

How can one write of a legend who is unlike anyone else in Tolkien's world? Whenever I read anything about this guy (and holy smokes the fanart tends to be exquisite), he just seems to be the exception rather than the rule. I can humbly say that I do not know him, even after reading research. The figure then that comes out at These Visions of You is a filled in version of what I was able to pick up from Googling, lol. At any rate, these were the bits that I found most relevant to _These Visions of You_ :

 **His Past**. He was a living legend in every conceivable way. His looks, his skills, his courage, even the manner of his death, the recovery and burial of his body, and eventually, his re-embodiment and return. I imagined he would be able to get whatever he wanted, and be comfortable in his own skin anywhere he went. So I wanted to subvert that. I wanted him, figuratively speaking, on his knees because I felt that it was the next stage of his growth as a character – "humility" and vulnerability.

What in the world does that mean? I felt that he had achieved such stratospheric heights, but one thing he has not yet been gifted with was to fall in love. To fall. One of my favorite scenes here was when I had him solitarily pick up the discarded things of the Mirkwood elves from the ground. I thought it was a good visual, especially in comparison to how everyone was just kowtowing to him.

 **His Purpose**. Furthermore, I felt there was something classic about the story of a warrior who, late in life after acquiring all of his expertise, retreats to a quieter, more peaceful, more obscure existence. That after years and years of pursuing power and excellence, in his later life the last things he learns are responsibility and restraint. So I kept Glorfindel to this old-soul-warrior archetype. He takes a step back for the fiery younger ones and thus, we see him in a diminished role in LOTR, which fits in with his absence in the films and in the books. I think I address this somewhat in his conversations with Elrond, wherein he says: " _Perhaps my battlefield was not the one that I thought, but the one inside_."

He is also often described as an emissary for the gods, which was a bit vague for me, so I tried to expound on it also that he served as a reminder for the gods' continuing attention and affection for the world. In that same conversation with Elrond, the Lord of Imladris tells him, "I must confess my soul feels incandescent, and it is a most welcome feeling after the darkness that has been creeping up on us all these years. I did not even realize I needed that surge of hope, that odds can still be beaten. That light can break through." So basically, the easy thought was to believe Glorfindel was re-embodied to fight, but in These Visions of You, he was returned to Middle-Earth as a message of love and hope, rather than of strength and power, which fits in with the larger view of the WOTR for me (as detailed in the section on love above).

 **His Powers - can he see the future?** Resources say he grew in power and was almost like the wizards (some of whom do have some sort of window or feeling to the future). In the books, I think he was also the one who said no man can kill the witch king. So I was tickled by the idea that maybe he saw snatches of the future. He was an emissary for the gods, and he was not unlike the Maia so I was comfortable playing with his foresight in _These Visions of You_.

But as we know, foresight in the LOTR universe is not an exact science so Glorfindel does make a mistake in initially interpreting his visions here. I preempt his mistake in this line from one of his earlier conversations with Legolas: " _It would take the common mind I think, because there is a path set for every strand of hair, seed, petal, pollen or speck of dust. Our kin cannot conceive it, that kind of design, that kind of attention, that kind of... love. I can only see shadows, feel snatches of things, and I do with it what I can..._ "

C. The Valar

Like life, the gods here are a kind of absent presence. There is design, there is love, there are representatives to remind us they are there and that they care. But it's difficult to understand how these great beings (or Being, whichever belief system you subscribe to) can turn towards our small, individual needs. That we can be loved and blessed with absolute generosity.

In trying to save Legolas' life, Glorfindel invoked them all, and he did not even know who helped him and who he should thank. I wanted him to be sort of floored by this – that there was a beautiful sublime terror to the thought that you are being listened to and cared for, that your infinitesimal self can be worthy of not only divine attention, but intercession. But that was one of his lessons here – that you can be loved - and love - until it is incomprehensible.

D. The Rivendell Elves

The Rivendell nobles here – Elrond and his twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, are really rather peripheral characters in the fic... I did have fun with them though and I hope you did too!

E. The Original Characters

Those familiar with my previous Mirkwood-based works will have encountered "the giant Silvan," the brash, Renior; and "tiny" Telion, who are Legolas' loyal soldiers. This, however does not mean that These Visions of You is part of a larger ordered series. I just use and reuse these characters so that I wouldn't have to keep inventing new ones. I wouldn't bother trying to make larger sense of things, haha.

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 **III. Acknowledgements**

Thanks to all who read, followed, favorited and especially all who reviewed this humble little tale. I wasn't sure how it would go over, so special thanks go out to those who left a kind note or two, just to indicate if I am moving in more or less the proper direction ;) Much love to the kind reviewers:

Aqua Fortis, AraneltheSilvan, arisucci, cancerous cactus, cheetahluke, Dark Windsong, Elvenprincessarcher, Guest, Hawaiichick, jada951, Jaya Avendel, Lord of the Gauntlets, LuteofLorien, marypoppin, Nina, PageKat, pandorias, Raider-K, Starfox500, and Suicidal Queen.

You are all a treasure.

* * *

 **IV. Bonus Fic: "EPILOGUE – A Promise Told"**

Title: "A Promise Told" (Epilogue to "These Visions of You")

 _Summary: In and around the War of the Ring, Glorfindel and Legolas steal away snatches of time together. Three interludes._

Warning: Violence and Mature Themes

Note: So damned long it will be posted in a separate chapter directly after this Afterword (after the afterword... not my finest grammatical moment!)


	7. Epilogue: A Promise Told

**"A Promise Told"**

 _Epilogue to "These Visions of You": In and around the War of the Ring, Glorfindel and Legolas steal away snatches of time together. Three interludes._

Warning: Violence and Mature Themes

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 **Interlude 1: In and Around The Council of Elrond in Rivendell**

 _When Glorfindel bargained with the gods to save Legolas' life, he did not think he would put his beloved wood-elf on a much darker, more painful path_

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The Prince of Mirkwood was oblivious to the polite but increasingly louder calls of the young Mirkwood soldier.

" _Hir-nin_ Legolas," he said, for the nth time, " _Hir-nin_ Legolas I am sorry to interrupt..."

The blond prince was sitting on the ground in front of a roaring fire, his back to the soldier and the golden visitor who flanked him. Legolas had apparently just come from a bath and was _en dishabille_ – hair still wet and unbraided, clad only in loose robes that hung off his shoulders and were pooled just beneath his hips and covering folded legs save for his bare feet.

It would have been a dreamy sight to the Lord Glorfindel, but Legolas' inattention was worrying, even before he noticed patterns of bruises and scarring all over Legolas' body that roiled his blood. There were faded, yellowing marks of gigantic paws?palms? on the wood-elf's arms and back, with smaller dots and slim lines of claw marks. There were sets of clean, minimal scarring from surgical cuts and stitches on one still-bruised shoulder, around his chest at the ribs, and his hips.

But the bruised handprints disturbed Glorfindel distinctly. Those who had inflicted them had held Legolas skin to skin. These were injuries inconsistent with what was usually acquired in battle. There was an intimacy to them. Time had been taken by the assailants.

Legolas had been held down and beaten, badly. _Tortured_ , Glorfindel realized. Legolas had been tortured.

" _Hir-nin_? Are you well-" the young soldier reached out to touch the unresponsive prince, who suddenly took aggressive notice of their heretofore unrecognized presence. He grabbed the younger soldier's hand before it could reach him, and he pulled him forward in a dizzying flurry of movement that suddenly somehow ended with a small dagger pressed to the other's throat. There was breathless silence for a long moment.

"Do not touch me," Legolas uttered. The fire reflected in his burning eyes.

"Legolas," Glorfindel said softly, cautiously. He reached out with his _fea_ too, only to be met by what felt like a forbidding, dark, thick, solid, jagged, _impenetrable?_ wall. "We are sorry to interrupt. He was merely trying to announce me to you but you did not hear us."

Legolas gave the Balrog Slayer a glance, and in the blink of an eye he turned from lethal to anguished before he managed to steel his expression. It seemed he required supreme effort just to release his quaking captive. He managed it finger by finger, with a resigned sigh. He pushed away from the younger soldier and slumped back down on the floor, gathering his robes about him self-consciously. The knife was hidden beneath its folds.

"One announces first, Nibenor," Legolas said wearily, not looking at either of them in the eye, "And then allows entry of a guest. They are not done simultaneously. For your future reference and improvement."

"I am heartily sorry, my lord. Should I uh..." the younger elf glanced uncertainly at the famed, ancient warrior beside him, "Should I send the Lord Glorfindel away...?"

"I would love to see you try," Legolas told him, and in his blue eyes was a small light of humor that Glorfindel saw right away, but the younger soldier was too scared to.

"Lord Glorfindel-" Nibenor began.

"Gods spare me, Nibenor, please just go," Legolas said exasperatedly. The younger warrior, at his wit's end and just relieved to be dismissed, bowed before the two golden elves and scurried away. He closed the door to Legolas' suites behind him.

"He is new," Glorfindel remarked.

"All the old ones have died."

Glorfindel nodded solemnly. He knew not to ask where Legolas' two most loyal guards and constant companions were. At least, not yet. The last time they were here in Imladris together, Legolas had been tailed everywhere by the slight but stealthy Telion and his foil, the gigantic and marauding Renior. Nothing short of death could have torn the pair from their Prince. That they were out of sight now, coupled by Legolas' grievous injuries and the implication that enemies had gotten close enough to him that he could be captured and tortured, along with Legolas' impenetrable wall and frayed nerves meant only recent pain and loss.

"I am sorry to hear that," Glorfindel said softly. "They were most kind, I shall never forget them." He paused in short prayer, before asking, "May I sit with you?"

 _"Of course!"_ the prince had once said, with earnestness and not a shred of doubt. This was seemingly lifetimes ago. Legolas was sitting beneath the stars then, and Glorfindel was bringing him a tray of food and offering him a simple proposal - if they could train and spar together. It set off a chain of events that ended with an exchange of hearts. But the years have been unkind since. There have been so many things to occupy both warriors, and letters and visits were useless when neither of them were ever long enough in the same place with the rotation of their duties, not to mention increasingly dangerous and ill-advised unless done on behalf of pertinent business. Neither of them begrudged the other his work and preoccupations. Love was there and always would be, but it lay buried beneath a mountain of duties and tasks, bordered by the wider world and its invasive problems.

"If you must," was the Prince's dismissive, heartrending reply. Glorfindel winced, but settled in beside Legolas.

They both came from an important Council called upon by the Lord Elrond. It was not the reunion of Glorfindel's visions, hopes and longings. It was not even the reunion of his nightmares. It was simply that one moment Legolas was not there and the next, he was.

Glorfindel was coming from other duties and had swept into the dais Elrond had chosen for the Council, one of the last to arrive. Glorfindel despised tardiness and was so distracted it took him a heartbeat to realize the Prince of Mirkwood was looking at him from where he stood on the other end of the platform, huddled with a cadre of other elves.

 _One moment Legolas was not there and the next, he was..._

Legolas was apparently more or less just arrived at Rivendell, for Elrond managed a small apologetic look at the ancient warrior lord of Gondolin, for not having appraised him sooner. Glorfindel cared not. He stalked straight for his wood-elf princeling. But restraint and custom had them doing naught but clasping each other about the arms, familiarly but as brothers-in-arms.

 _You've changed_ , Glorfindel ached to say, but told himself there would be time for that, later. Something about the eyes. Something about the restrained smile, the shaded expression, the close way by which he held himself and later, the quick anger.

But as usual, there were other things that had to come first. The Mirkwood arrivals were just one group of several, 'coincidentally' come to this same place at roughly the same time. They, like a surprisingly representative collection of free peoples of Middle-Earth, were each visiting for their own purposes, only to find it was a convergence of fated events that brought them all to Rivendell on the brink of doom or perhaps - salvation. Elrond called them together for a meeting, where it was quickly decided -

The Ring must be destroyed where it was forged in Mt. Doom.

That brave little hobbit, Frodo Baggins was going to do it but there was a further question of who would be sent with him on his perilous journey, which Elrond was currently contemplating. In the meantime, there was scouting to be done in the routes branching out from Imladris, and rest and recovery was available for those who needed it at Elrond's home. Glorfindel initially thought Legolas would be among those tasked with the former, but it seemed now that he would be more fitting for the latter.

"I am sorry to hear of the escape of Gollum," Glorfindel said, in reference to the dire news that Legolas, as messenger for his father the Elvenking's realm, had come to Imladris to share.

"Yes, yes, we have failed in that trust," Legolas snapped, "as Aragorn had made abundantly clear. But let this not be a slight upon my father or our people. I did not say it at Council for it would not have mattered much, but the failing is mine. All mine, all of it."

"I am sorry that it had cost you the lives of your soldiers, Legolas," Glorfindel expounded gently, "I did not mean to insinuate it is through some fault of yours or anyone else. There were machinations afoot beyond any of us."

Legolas shook his head. "No, no. I was... I had b-been..." he hesitated and took a deep breath. He clutched his robes tightly about himself. "I recently shared this Gollum's a-accommodations, so to speak, as I th-think you kn-know. When I returned f-from c-captivity I could not s-suffer the wretched c-creature to be kept in b-bars and chains b-beneath the g-ground, as I had b-been. I authorized the largesse by which he was allowed t-to roam and climb his tree, and n-no one had the heart to d-deny m-me. It was why we were so r-ripe for an a-a-ambush."

Glorfindel thought back to what Legolas had reported at the Council. He remembered the distress upon his beloved's fair features as he reported of Gollum's escape from where he was deposited for detainment in Mirkwood by Aragorn.

Glorfindel frowned. "Did Gollum's escape not happen a few months past? And your capture had been before that? You do not heal as you should, Legolas. These bruises and scars should be long gone. When were you..." he stopped himself from speaking of torture and settled instead with, "...captured?"

"I do not know anymore," Legolas replied breathily. His shoulders slumped. "Yesterday? T-today, t-tomorrow... I keep returning there."

"Legolas," Glorfindel said softly, and he scooted forward to gather his beloved, long-missed elf in a comforting embrace, but Legolas almost kicked back as he scrambled away.

"Come no closer," Legolas said, and there was a cackle of danger in the air. His entire body tightened, and his eyes had widened in mortal fear and lethal reflex. He looked lost and elsewhere. His chest heaved up and down in large, loud breaths. He looked like a wounded animal caught in a corner – at its most dangerous. Glorfindel was taken aback, but he raised his hands up carefully and he backed away.

"Legolas it is just me," he said quietly. "You are in Imladris and you are safe. No harm will come to you here, as long as you are with me. I swear it."

Legolas stared at him for a long moment, and Glorfindel could tell the very instant Legolas realized where he was and who he was with when his blue eyes pooled and his face crumpled. He turned away, and his body relaxed again to his defeated, weary slump. His robes fell loose again, exposing the same injured shoulder, the same injured ribs, the same injured hip. The same hand and claw prints. Glorfindel ached to touch him but kept his distance, especially as he realized one of the hand prints on the other elf's hip was only half-visible. It ran lower. Perhaps there were other such prints, and those lower still.

Glorfindel's heart clenched, and it felt like a punch to the gut. The hypervigilance, the simmering and unrelenting anger, the sudden distance, the fear of touch, the problems with concentration...

"I did not want you to see me like this," Legolas said softly, "but what is one more pair of eyes? What is one more? All my people know of that which has befallen me. Everyone must know by now. You deserve to know more than most, probably."

"I did not know," Glorfindel told him quietly. "No one in Rivendell knows, Legolas. Your people have been most discreet. They love you. They protect you. No one knows."

Legolas took a deep, shaky breath, and he ran his hands over his face. He had wiped dispassionately at tears, and looked at Glorfindel only when he had regained some of his control. Glorfindel trembled too, for when he had prayed for the gods to spare Legolas' life, when he had bargained with them so that Legolas would live, he did not think that his actions would bring his beloved such a fate as this.

"So, my lord," Legolas said, tone suddenly clinical. "I need your counsel on a matter that has been bothering me."

"I will do everything I can to help," Glorfindel said, but he found his voice hoarse. He longed to hold the other, but did not want to crowd him.

"I was captured with another elf," Legolas said. "Renior, you know him."

"Of course."

"I was b-brutalized in front of him," Legolas continued. He swallowed nervously, and his numb tone battled with his anxieties. "I do not r-remember anything of that. The orcs were trying to glean information from him, you see. Troop strength, movements, positions. They were... h-hurting me b-but it was h-him they were t-trying to b-b-break. We were all trained for the possibility of torture. But that I would have b-been v-violated in front of him, that he would be f-forced t-to watch... it was p-perhaps a failure of our imagination."

Glorfindel tried to remain calm as he listened, but his heart thundered in his ears and he could barely hear Legolas for all the images that flooded his mind. His fists clenched and tightened so much that he feared he would draw blood.

"Renior said," Legolas continued and in this his voice truly wavered, "he s-said he f-found a well of strength and r-rage within him at what was d-done t-to me. He f-fought off our captors and t-took me in h-his arms and we escaped t-together.

"I was... I was not myself for some time afterwards," he went on, "there are things I s-still cannot remember as I've said, and things I am only b-beginning to p-piece together now."

Glorfindel pressed his lips together in a grim line before deducing, "You think he gave them information in exchange for your safety and freedom. You think Renior told them of the creature Gollum."

Legolas closed his eyes and nodded. "I've said this at the Council - more is known of our doings than we could wish. And yes, perhaps the enemies' spies are many. B-but there are s-so many reasons why one will t-turn on his own p-people, do you not think so, my lord?"

"Why do you think the information came from Renior?" Glorfindel asked.

"The ease of our escape," Legolas replied. "I am n-not one to easily despair but I have some p-pragmatism. I would think. I cannot fathom its possibility unless we were left to leave. And when... when we returned home. _Home..._ "

His voice trembled with longing, before he resumed.

"Renior t-tried to institute sweeping changes I was in n-no state to really consider, and _adar_ and the others were too occupied with me to bother with. I th-think the enemy meant t-to hurt ada with me, too. And then when the... a-ambush? rescue of Gollum?... finally came, I was well enough only f-for duty near the stronghold and I w-was there. M-my loyal Telion – you remember him, my lord? - his life was amongst those first l-lost. Renior went on a mad bloodlust, I thought he'd lost his mind, perhaps he had. P-perhaps he had long before that, when-when he was f-forced to w-watch and b-barter for me. And yet he still s-saved my life at the end. He d-died saving me in the attack. He passed away as I h-held him, and even then h-he was so d-desperately s-s-sorry for everything and f-for the life of m-me I did not understand what he was s-s-sorry for, not really, perhaps not until now."

"Because it seems there is a great related danger around us," Glorfindel finished. "There is malicious design upon everything."

Legolas nodded. "So, my lord." The formality and distance was helping him reclaim some control. "Is this something I need to speak with Lord Elrond about? I did not know how to breach this at the Council. I could not speak of a lost f-friend's b-betrayal of our people, without speaking of what it took to b-break him. It would not do, you see, to simply say he was a spy. There is such injustice in it. He-he is a victim, and all that has befallen us, all of this, comes down t-to me."

For a long moment he was lost in himself and he murmured, "Perhaps I should not have screamed. I t-told him, I will do it because it will hurt, but that is only the body, it does not m-mean anything. But perhaps I should have tried harder... I should not have done it. I should not have done it."

Glorfindel closed his eyes in deep and profound unhappiness for the elf before him. _When I saved you from death – a death in a peaceful home, in the arms of your beloved, surrounded by more who cared for you – I did not think I would doom you to this. To torture. To, to rape. To the betrayal of a friend. To their deaths. Should I just have had the courage to let you go? Are you being punished because I was not strong enough to let you go?_

"I have much to atone for," Legolas said softly. "There is so much to do. The Lord Elrond needs scouts to leave tomorrow or perhaps the day after. I mean to bring a party with me for one of the routes. We can scout the paths and at the same time, seek the escaped wraith Gollum. If I cannot correct what I've unwittingly set into motion through his loss, I mean to accompany the Ringbearer south, if he would have one such as me."

Glorfindel opened his eyes then, and settled them upon the determined, ice blue gaze of the wood-elf.

"Anyone would be lucky to have one such as you on their side, princeling."

Legolas winced. "You shouldn't call me that. I was already too old when you started, and I am too sullied now. But I will tell you this. You once taught me to sense the orc. I've not lost that talent, and if anything this, this l-last c-capture of mine only honed it. I can s-s-scent them anywhere, my lord. I would kn-know it in m-my dreams. Their b-bodies. Their b-b-breaths..." he drifted away again, his presence like tendrils of smoke Glorfindel could not hang on to.

"Legolas-"

He returned abruptly. "So should I speak of this to Lord Elrond or not?"

"I believe it affects things not at all at this point," Glorfindel said, sighing but shifting the topic to more productive things as Legolas willed, "but if you wish, I can broach it with him privately and delicately, and let it inform his decisions. If he should need to speak with you further, then that can be arranged afterwards."

Legolas gave it a thought and nodded decisively. "That is kind of you, my lord. I would appreciate it very much. I have no desire to recount my foul experiences. Especially one of this n-nature, which is not unfamiliar to the Lord of Imladris by virtue of the t-tortures inflicted upon his dear wife. He might try to fix me, I think. I need no fixing. I need work. I need...redemption– do not look at me like that."

Glorfindel felt it only when the other elf had called it out. He had been wearing an expression of pity, hadn't he? He had come in here wanting to speak with Legolas, whom he had not seen in years. He wanted to comfort him for the ill news he had brought. He wanted to hold him for missing him all this time. He wanted to just be with him. He did not expect this. He did not expect to find this broken, angry creature.

"You are right," Glorfindel said. "You deserve better. I admire you, Legolas, perhaps now more than ever, and I did not think that was possible. You are the strongest person I know."

The other elf shook his head at him in disappointment. "The words of the past will not work this time, my lord. I am not who I was."

"No one expects you to be the same, not after everything," Glorfindel agreed, "but do not forget who you are."

"And what is that, exactly?" Legolas asked, derisively.

 _And what, pray tell, does the Lord Glorfindel know of this heart of mine?_ Legolas had asked him once. Playful, coquettish. That was a lifetime ago too. There had been such light and life in him then, even in the face of grievous injuries and an uncertain future.

Glorfindel closed his eyes, and with the gentlest nudge of his soul, he reached out to the other. He imagined what he had seen and admired of the young prince in the short time they had known each other. Legolas' intelligence and skill, his sheer ingenuity, his refusal to give up or give in to despair. He took pride in his work but he also had the humility to learn and always, always had the courage to try. He had easy humor and open affection, a truly generous heart, so able and ready to find and share joy both by deliberate design and even by the incidence of his existence. He loved, and was beloved...

These were small things, and though some of them bounced off of the hard walls Legolas had learned to put up since his brutalization, they found and made cracks and seeped in light and warmth.

Glorfindel reminded Legolas of that song he himself had never forgotten - _Let the winds of fall not take / this last leaf of summer though it may tremble and shake / Let faith stay and stand throughout the winter cold..._

Glorfindel opened his eyes, and found Legolas staring at him with a softened expression, through eyes of deep pools of blue. The moisture in them trembled and stirred with firelight.

"The burdens you carry are undeserved," Glorfindel told him, "Carry instead, the heart I'd given. You are loved, you will always be loved."

Legolas reached out a tentative hand, and Glorfindel reined in his own desire to touch. Legolas' long, beautiful fingers brushed at the strands of Glorfindel's golden hair, at the edges that have strayed over his shoulders. Legolas played with them, let the strands wind about his digits, before he rested his palm upon Glorfindel's chest, over his heart. The ancient warrior felt it thunder all the harder with the other elf's hand there.

"I've b-been had, do you understand?" Legolas asked quietly, as his gaze bore into the other's. "I need you to understand. I'm not certain you understand. I've b-b-been ill-used. Repeatedly. I am t-tainted, and I d-do not heal, and I have nothing to offer you or anybody but my fighting hands. All I know now is to fight."

"I know there are no words that can bring you comfort or change your mind at the moment," Glorfindel told him gently, "But please hear at least this - just do and be whatever you need to be, Legolas. Because I can wait. For you I can always wait."

"What if you wait for nothing?"

"I always have the faith to wait," Glorfindel promised. He hesitated, knowing he had to be careful, more careful now than ever. "I would hold you, but only if you wish it."

Legolas' hand over his chest spasmed in alarm, but he took a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

Slowly, so as not to alarm the other, Glorfindel moved closer. And all the while he infused Legolas' beleaguered mind with images of a golden summer of high heat near the soothing shade of breeze-stirred trees and the sounds of cool, running water.

The first point where their bodies met was Legolas' head upon Glorfindel's shoulder. It was like a jolt of lightning, and Glorfindel longed to hold him tighter, but Legolas' body was stiff against him, like that of a wild, distrustful animal ready to bite or bolt. He forced himself to slow and take stock and be gentle. He raised an arm slowly, letting the fabric of his sleeve graze Legolas' body from where Glorfindel lifted it all the way until his hand rested upon the other elf's shoulder, so that it was a contact that did not come from nowhere to catch him unawares. Everything he did he did slowly and with careful deliberation of how the other might react. For a long time they sat on the floor that way, quietly before the roaring fire – Legolas leaning against Glorfindel's chest, body slowly easing, and Glorfindel's arm about his shoulders. The ancient warrior did not hold him by both arms, not wanting to encase and crowd him. He wanted Legolas to know he could always be released from this hold, and that everything was within his desire and control.

He felt Legolas breathe in and out, taking in the scent of Glorfindel's closeness. He in turn, indulged in the scent of the top of the younger elf's head. How Legolas always smelled of rain-kissed spring leaves beneath the soaps of Imladris was beyond Glorfindel's knowing.

It wasn't long before Legolas became a heavier weight, lulled towards a weary sleep. He had come from a long journey after all, was dragged into a council where he had admitted his people's shortcomings, and was then cornered by Glorfindel into a confession of the damages done to him. He'd long felt alone in his undeserved burdens, weighed down by the grief of the loss of his friends exacerbated by the possibility of one's betrayal. It was a longtime coming, that he should find someone to literally and figuratively just lean against.

"Let's put you to bed, princeling," Glorfindel said quietly, and was relieved the endearment was indulged this time.

"Is too good here," came the inarticulate mutter.

"You used to have better diction," Glorfindel teased.

Legolas voice was muffled by him sinking deeper against Glorfindel's chest. "The roaring fire and the warmth of your presence are comforts I am loathe to forego."

Glorfindel laughed, and he knew the resulting rumble in his chest and belly must have been a comfort to the other for Legolas sank in deeper.

"You need not forego either," Glorfindel said, and he rose, pulling Legolas up almost effortlessly with him. The other had always been light as a feather, but made more so by weight loss from recent events. Legolas growled disapprovingly but cooperated and put some weight on his own legs. The movement dislodged his robes, and before Glorfindel could think, he reached over with his free hand and attempted to tug them tighter together.

Legolas, however, jolted at the sudden movement and grabbed at Glorfindel's offending hand with a vicelike grip. Their eyes met, and the wood-elf's glacial blues were wide with fear. Glorfindel took a deep, careful breath.

"I did not want you to get cold," he said softly, and though it took him a long moment, Legolas' eyes softened and he let go of Glorfindel's hand. He left red marks.

The ancient warrior went about his business, closing Legolas' robes over at the chest and ushering him to his bed. Legolas, still shaky from the sudden jolting, suffered to be led and tucked in. When Glorfindel finished fussing with his blanket, he looked down on the wood-elf prince, whose weary gaze met his.

"Stay."

Glorfindel's mouth widened to a smile.

 **# # #**

 **# # #**

 **Interlude 2: In and Around The Battle Under the Trees of Mirkwood**

 _With his beloved Legolas away as one of the Nine Walkers fighting one front of the War, Glorfindel takes the Prince's place in Mirkwood... where the ancient warrior fights_ alongside _Thranduil in the Battle Under the Trees, but_ against _Thranduil in winning Legolas' love._

 **# # #**

 **# # #**

The fighting was over and the forest, while still partly aflame, was for the most part finally cooling and easing at last.

Glorfindel did not have his woodland kin's affinity and connection with the trees, but even he could feel their anger and torment at what had been done to them. Everything still smelled of burnt wood and ash, and the air was thick with smoke and debris. These oppressions were familiar to him - he'd been caught in the thick of such mighty, hungry, destructive fires before - but he'd forgotten too that conflagrations were so loud. The fire roared and screamed as it ate ground, and the quenching of them left everything in a sudden silence.

The otherwise hushed conversations, anguished moaning of the injured, the rustling robes of the harried healers, and the clanking armor and weapons of the remnant soldiers were outsize sounds in the post-fire quiet. But by these and the grumbling of the trees, there was life and survival and that was all that mattered.

The enemies have been repelled, the fires put out, and Thranduil and his people would continue to endure, as they always have.

Glorfindel, who had come to the Woodland Realm days past with a small relief force from Imladris, lent themselves to the service of the Elvenking. Thranduil's strategic mind immediately found good use of them. So as not to disrupt his well-oiled military force, the Rivendell elves were sent to do the just-as dangerous work of retrieving the injured and using their presumably Elrond-trained aid skills to good use in the healing tents. The healing tents were also the perfect place to determine where Thranduil's forces were faltering, such that whenever injured Mirkwood elves were brought in, a soldier from Rivendell would be sent out to his company replace him. The Imladris elves were thus scattered strategically, fighting enemies and fires alongside the wood-elf soldiers of Thranduil's formidable army wherever they were needed.

Except of course, for Glorfindel, who determinedly stuck to the King's side. Thranduil had a fine military mind indeed and let him. He recognized the importance of symbols and what they could do for both inspiring courage amongst soldiers in the field, and spurring fear amongst one's enemies.

Thus, the Balrog Slayer was on the frontlines alongside the Elvenking. They made a terrifying, sublime sight, these two ancient, golden elves with their gleaming swords streaked with orc blood, and the bodies of their enemies lying strewn at their feet.

They were at the front of the fighting and the last to leave the field when it ended. Thranduil, Glorfindel found with no surprise, was as relentless as Legolas.

That was hours ago. Glorfindel had since devoted his time to the healing tents, where amongst his many duties was sitting with the ailing. Many suffered from burns alongside battle wounds. He found himself comforting them using words and images Legolas had once soothed him with.

"It is only the summer," he would murmur, and he would brush their souls with memories of the bright, high sun, the shade of the trees, the cool, moist ground, and the sound of running river water. It ushered many a wood-elf into better, healing sleep.

"I used to tell my son that."

Glorfindel whirled around at the sound of Thranduil's deep, low voice. The Elvenking had come up soundlessly behind him as he calmed one soldier into slumber.

"You will join me for supper," Thranduil said, and he turned away without another word, fully expecting compliance.

Glorfindel's lip turned up in a wry smile. He rose to his feet and followed, but by the Valar, he took his sweet time. When he finally arrived at the Elvenking's tent, he found it to be a logistical feat of unexpected luxury in the fringes of the victorious battlefield.

Thranduil's people kept their ruler lavishly outfitted even in a crisis, with rugs and comfortable seats, a full, warm meal and good gods, plenty of Dorwinion. Glorfindel did not begrudge the exacting ruler his accommodations and well, vices; he had seen him on the field, and was unsurprised that his people would be so devoted to his comfort and happiness. Thranduil would die for them and everything in here was comparatively an easy thing to give back.

A valet started divesting the King of his weapons, armor and fighting tunic, replacing it with more comfortable clothes and a robe. Glorfindel was furnished with the same service, though he sent the attendant away once his armor was removed, content to remain in his own attires.

"I see now that you really have been within intimate the sphere of my son," Thranduil said. The divestment of his clothes revealed a nasty, sluggishly bleeding gash on his arm, which a healer was rapidly put upon to attend. Thranduil sat on a simple seat marked at the raised back with the crest of his House, and he motioned for Glorfindel to take a chair across from him at the filled dining table. The ancient lord and warrior of Gondolin accepted the invitation with a small bow.

"The Prince Legolas was a singular comfort to me when I took grievous injury some years past," Glorfindel said. He watched, impressed, as Thranduil's arm was stitched and the King gave it no notice. With his free hand, he drank from a goblet of wine and nibbled rather casually at a piece of bread.

"Please, eat," the Elvenking said.

Glorfindel did as he was requested, and realized he was hungry after all. They ate and drank quietly, until the healers and all the attendants left the King and the ancient warrior alone to their meal.

"I am grateful for your presence here, Lord Glorfindel," said Thranduil.

"You barely needed us."

Thranduil did not deny it. "Yes but ending this on our own would have taken more time, more trees, more lives. I am not so proud that I would refuse, nor feel no gratitude, for assistance when it is offered. It is good that the Lord of Imladris was able to spare you. I suppose that he had allowed you to leave his hidden, protected valley, must mean the tide of war is in our favor."

Thranduil had lingered on 'hidden' and 'protected,' a subtle slander for the fact that Rivendell had been spared many ravages of the enemy for a long time and was even now continuing to be spared, and that its ruler wielded one of the powerful elven rings. Glorfindel took no offense; Thranduil's folk had much to deal with in their forest, with no otherworldly forces with which to defend themselves. The Elvenking was well-known for his sharp mind, candid tongue, and fondness for baiting, besides. Glorfindel knew not to bite, but he gave Thranduil a wry grin in acknowledgement of the barb, before answering.

"The many fronts by which the forces of Sauron had been faced and felled along the course of this war, has rendered an attack upon Rivendell unlikely," Glorfindel said. "The Lord Elrond sent small contingents abroad – here as you know, toward Helm's Deep, and then some to Lothlorien and Gondor. Things will be decided in the next few days, one way or another."

"Ah," said Thranduil, "Our fates rest upon that foolish quest my son was dispatched to. The fighting has kept word of this 'fellowship' from reaching us. What do you know of Legolas' progress?"

Thranduil sounded casual, but Glorfindel detected a small tremble in his hands when he reached anew for his goblet and sipped at its contents.

"Not much," Glorfindel admitted. "Last I saw him was at Rivendell before he departed as one of the Nine Walkers. I've only heard snatches of things about him, since. They lost Gandalf facing a Balrog in Moria, but we received confirmation that the rest of them arrived in Lothlorien in reasonable health. The Fellowship thereafter broke at Parth Galen and lost another one of its own. Legolas then lent his arms to the stand at Helm's Deep and by all accounts, conducted himself most heroically. There, they also reclaimed Mithrandir in a more powerful incarnation. Last I heard, he was determined to take the Paths of the Dead with Aragorn toward Gondor, where more fighting is expected."

Thranduil flinched, and his jaws tightened. "How does that foolish wood-elf somehow find the worst fronts of the battles of this thrice-damned war?"

Glorfindel exhaled slowly. Legolas had been sent on a mission of stealth, after all. He wondered about that too.

"He is alive at least."

Thranduil tilted his head at what Glorfindel said, thoughtfully. "And you would know it, wouldn't you?"

Glorfindel had dodged one bait, only to be lured into a different, deeper trap. He'd long known of Thranduil's cleverness, had faced off against the Elvenking's equal and more before, along the course of his long courtly lives. But Legolas' father somehow knew how to get to the core of him.

"I saw your golden head approaching when you first arrived," Thranduil shared, "between the shadows of the trees and the thick smoke in the air, I thought at first that it was Legolas come home to his people in the hour of our need. I even felt his heart. But then I realized it was just you. Thankfully, you have your own usefulness."

"At least," Glorfindel said wryly.

"So," Thranduil said. "It is the least of my current worries, but it seems the stories are true. It is the Balrog Slayer who has stolen my son's heart."

"It was more the other way around," Glorfindel murmured. "And then his, he had given freely."

"Semantics," Thranduil said dispassionately, "I am still left with the same effective result. Lovely as your lineage and unmatched though your legend may be, Lord Glorfindel, your presence in Legolas' life will still leave me with a non-child-bearing heir." He set his lips in a grim line before continuing. "Then again, arrangements can always be made. What you do in your private lives will be your business, but an elleth can almost certainly be prevailed upon to-"

"This is perhaps premature," Glorfindel said quickly.

Thranduil shrugged, languidly. "Our Kingdom would not have survived this long if our outlooks were so short."

"Whatever Legolas and I had was years ago," Glorfindel said carefully. "And when we saw each other in Rivendell before he left for the Quest, nothing happened between us."

Well, perhaps it was accurate to say, nothing _much_.

 _The last time they saw each other was in Rivendell, before the Nine Walkers left for the Quest. Legolas had come to Elrond's home bearing ill news both for Middle-Earth's plight as well as his personal well-being, but he was just as he had promised – still an excellent fighter and an eager worker._

 _With Imladris as a temporary home, he was in and out of its boundaries, participating in any scouting missions precipitating the departure of the Fellowship that would have him. The remnant injuries he harbored that Glorfindel had seen seemed to weigh nothing at all, more scars upon his soul rather than his body. Glorfindel took the roads with Legolas as much as he could, but with the looming danger upon Middle-Earth, his own workloads were too heavy._

 _Still, he had worked with Legolas enough to note how the Mirkwood Prince's recent ordeal had actually improved his fighting, rather than diminished it. He was focused, productive, cooperative and precise. Moreover, he was breathtaking to watch on the field, and it was remarkable how someone could throw his body so fully into a fight. One might accuse Legolas of recklessness, but he would be a fool - there was a strange surety and conviction about the wood-elf's movements, as if he had foresight of where he and his enemies would land each time, or perhaps a singular understanding of the physics of the world and the capabilities of his own body. He won awed admirers anew every time he ventured out. When he was picked by the Lord Elrond to represent the elven race in the Quest, no one was surprised._

 _Glorfindel, in mild defiance of the visions that he knew were finally coming to pass, contested Elrond's decision privately. He knew Legolas not only deserved that place within the Fellowship and was perhaps fated for it, but it was Glorfindel that was the problem; just as before and just as he always knew it, he could not find it in himself to let the other one go._

 _"You always knew this would happen," Elrond had reminded him._

 _"Not like this," Glorfindel argued. "He is unwell. You know this, I've spoken of it with you."_

 _Elrond winced at the reminder. Legolas' brutalization was news to him indeed, mentioned not even in hints or whispers in the correspondence and intelligence missives that have crossed his desk. His healer's hands ached to touch and mend, but Glorfindel bid him keep his sympathy to himself for the time being, and just watch first and take cues from the evasive survivor._

 _"Yet the past two months has proven his prowess and productivity if anything," Elrond pointed out. "Perhaps he needs this, just as it is a cause that needs him. And besides, who would you have in his stead? You? Your fea, it is too prominent, mellon-nin. This is a mission of secrecy and stealth, of unlikely fellows sneaking into a stronghold that would otherwise see the likes of you coming miles away. And I need you here besides, to prepare our final defense. We are a well-diminished people here and can be attacked at any time. All Rivendell will have is us, and such a refuge must stand and stay, even for just a short time, if the worst should come to pass. To keep it is to give some part of the free peoples of this Earth a chance to survive."_

 _At any rate the choice would be taken from Glorfindel just days later. A grievous injury sustained during one particularly daring patrol had him flat on his back and robbed of his senses in the week drawing toward the departure of the Fellowship._

 _But it was in his days of crisis that Legolas shunned all other preoccupations and stayed by his side. He woke once, to the Mirkwood soldier washing his feet. Another time, his hair. The poignancy of it all made his eyes water each time, for they've both lived through something similar before and though the circumstances were the same, Legolas was not._

 _He still had gentle hands upon Glorfindel's broken body, a ready smile for reassurance anytime Glorfindel opened his bleary eyes, and a voice made for songs and summer breezes whenever Glorfindel feared, as he often did, that he was burning. But Legolas did not have the old, bright confidence of his youth, that certainty that if he only believed and/or worked hard enough and/or bled enough, things would be well. Glorfindel could see him trying though, trying oh so very hard to touch without flinching, to connect not only with the ancient warrior he loved, but with the part of himself that hoped for good things and cared openly with joy._

 _Every night, Thranduilion crawled into Glorfindel's bed and slept beside him. Legolas curled up near Glorfindel's bandaged arm, determinedly above the covers while the ailing warrior lay immobile beneath them. For a grown elf who fancied he was no longer a "princeling," it was an endearingly juvenile habit._

 _"You make getting skewered by an orc a stroke of luck," Glorfindel had the strength to mutter at him on one such evening, and he felt the other elf's body shake, first in relieved laughter, before it devolved rapidly into a shaking, desperate sob. Legolas scooted closer and hid his face shamefully on the sleeve of Glorfindel's robe. With his free hand, Glorfindel placed a palm soothingly over the other elf's head._

 _"I cannot lose you too," Legolas said huskily. "I will not. I refuse it."_

 _"You have nothing to fear, Legolas. I am well now, princeling."_

 _"You can even call me that for the rest of my life."_

 _"I just might."_

 _Legolas lifted his tear-streaked face. They were so close together that their hair tangled, that Glorfindel could feel huffs of Legolas' warm breath on his cheek as he spoke. It's happened before too. Of course it has._

 _"I will leave soon," Legolas told him. "It will be a difficult undertaking and I do not know where it will lead. But for the peace of my heart, promise me you will look after yourself."_

 _Glorfindel found the energy to snort at him. "If you must know, I am seldom ever hurt. You are only incidentally around when it happens. It must be all this wood-elf distraction. And if I may remind you – I am not the one headed in the direction of Mt. Doom. Named thus for a reason as you can imagine."_

 _Legolas smiled at him, the first truly warm one since their reunion a few weeks past. They reached his eyes. They looked like the deep, deep sea. They could pull in and toss Glorfindel around according to its whims -_

 _"I promise," Glorfindel said grudgingly._

 _Legolas' lowered his head, and Glorfindel risked stabbing pain in his chest from a bark of laughter he could not contain, when the younger elf had the audacity to wipe his face and nose at the ancient, injured warrior's sleeve. Then he lifted his head and grinned, and Glorfindel knew it really had been intended as a joke. With that small light in Legolas' eye, it suddenly seemed as if the night sky was ablaze with starfire and not so dark or cold, nor the tomorrows so forbidding._

"Nothing happened," Glorfindel said to Thranduil quietly. "Legolas had...far greater concerns."

A flash of pain crossed Thranduil's eyes, and his sharp gaze clouded with anguished memory before he steeled his expression (oh so familiarly), and looked at Glorfindel thoughtfully. They both knew Glorfindel was speaking not just of the Quest.

"He was not taking it well," Thranduil said, "the escape of that wretched creature Gollum and the consequent deaths of his closest friends."

Glorfindel nodded solemnly.

"But there were – are - other scars," Thranduol murmured, "I wonder if he had spoken of them with you."

Glorfindel looked him squarely in the eye.

"You are right," said Thranduil, "It has been years since your... dalliance in Imladris. And these years have been extraordinarily unkind. Legolas spent some time in orcish captivity."

"I am aware-" Glorfindel interrupted, wishing very much that Thranduil would go no further.

"He'd been tortured," the Elvenking went on.

"I know-"

"He'd been ra-"

"I know!" Glorfindel bellowed, cutting Thranduil off at last. A rustle of sounds heralded the arrival of armed Mirkwood soldiers at the entrance of the tent, concerned for their king with the ancient warrior's mighty yell.

Thranduil dismissed them with barely a glance and a small wave of his hand. They bowed before promptly exiting. It all happened quickly, barely enough time for Glorfindel to completely rein in his temper.

"You speak of this so callously," Glorfindel seethed. "Do you mean to drive me away by reminding me of his, his... victimization?" Glorfindel did not like the word, no, not at all, especially toward someone of Legolas' defiant strength. But he could think of no better term, for his mind was scattered and his earnest heart could not believe a father - any father, even one with Thranduil's reputed incisiveness - would do what he was suspecting.

"Do you want him to sire this kingdom an heir so badly that you would sully him before me, just to keep me away?" Glorfindel asked, voice quaking in disbelief. "Would you hurt him so?"

Thranduil _tsked_ at him derisively. "I am not trying to get rid of you by saying my son is tainted, Lord Glorfindel. I am trying to see if _you_ deserve him. For to know his scars is to know the extent of his strength. To know what he survived is to understand how brightly his spirit shines. I want to know if the legendary warrior lord of Gondolin, the Balrog Slayer, feared by Nazgul, hero of ancient wars and beloved by the gods – is good enough for _my_ son."

Glorfindel's eyes watered in fading anger and, and something inexplicable that he could only think of as touched relief. He ached for the love of Legolas, and thanked the gods he was loved so fiercely by Thranduil too.

"Why are you here, Lord Glorfindel?" Thranduil asked. "Like you said, the Lord of Imladris dispatched small forces in many places here and there. Why is the Balrog Slayer in Mirkwood when he could have had pick of any front in the war and would have been pivotal to winning any of them?"

There were echoes of Legolas' song in Glorfindel's heart –

 _"Let the winds of fall not take_

 _this last leaf of summer though it may tremble and shake._

 _Let faith stay and stand throughout the winter cold,_

 _A mark of spring, a promise told –_

 _Dark now though home may seem,_

 _In my heart and by my blood it will remain evergreen."_

"Legolas is away fighting for all of us," Glorfindel said quietly, "It seemed only right that someone should stand in defense of his home when he could not, so that he may have somewhere to rest and return at the end of all this."

"That is _my_ job," Thranduil pointed out.

"But home is not only your land," Glorfindel said. "I held him in my arms, years ago. He was dying you see, and I am uncertain how much of this he or the Lord Elrond had reported to you but there was no other way to describe it. He was dying and as his mind was fleeting he kept saying again and again, to tell you of his love. His home that I meant to protect was not merely your land, King Thranduil. I also came in the hopes of preserving you."

Thranduil did not deny either, that along the course of the fighting, Glorfindel had been instrumental in his personal survival. He took a deep breath and opened his palms up and shrugged in acceptance of this answer. "And so I am alive, victorious, and both our work is more or less done. What becomes of you now?"

"I will return to Imladris," Glorfindel said, "make preparations if the worst should come to pass in the next days and weeks. Things will move quickly, now. Afterwards, I mean to follow your son to Gondor if my duties can spare me."

 _I mean to follow him to the ends of the world if he would have me_ , he did not bother to add. The perceptive father of his beloved wood-elf could read right through him.

"Perhaps you are not so disagreeable after all," Thranduil said magnanimously. Glorfindel wondered if he was joking. There was a small light in Thranduil's eye, something of Legolas, and the ancient warrior realized by it that Thranduil was indeed imparting some of his dark humor.

"Neither are you," Glorfindel returned.

Thranduil _tsked_ at him in mock offense, but reached over and filled Glorfindel's near-empty goblet with fine wine.

 **# # #**

 **# # #**

 **Interlude 3: After the Death of Elessar, in Rivendell**

 _They've both survived the War intact, but struggle in its cruel aftermath_

 **# # #**

 **# # #**

The elven lord of Ithilien - the breathtaking and prosperous, colony sitting upon a revived fiefdom of the King of Gondor and Arnor – was approaching.

He was in mourning blacks, visible beneath a light, well-worn traveling cloak, open from the neck at the end of a humble leaf clasp. He was alone and sat uncharacteristically hunched, morose, a dark figure upon his blinding white horse. His head hung low.

Glorfindel watched him approach from the vantage point of one of Imladris' balconies. He knew this day would come, the day Legolas would return to him, here.

 _But why does the world keep returning you to me more broken each time?_ Glorfindel wondered. _It had broken your body. It had splintered your mind. And now you return to me with a heart that could very well be crushed._

For he knew what the mourning blacks meant.

Elessar – Aragorn, Estel - had passed on.

Glorfindel looked up at the cloudy skies. With the diminishing power and presence of the elves, the golden sheen which had always made Imladris a paradise in all weathers and seasons had diminished too. The sun still rose and it set, the stars blazed, and the moon hung low and large over the magnificent falls and foliage of the hidden valley. They remained beautiful, but the cackling magic and energy that stirred and connected everything had gone.

 _It's going to rain_ , he thought. And when once it had felt like hundreds of thousands of cool, tiny fingers drumming against his skin, a song of the Earth, a shower of kisses from the heavens - lately rain was just rain.

It is no wonder that all but a handful of Rivendell's people have left. Their time upon the Earth was ended, and most of the rooms of Elrond's House have been cleaned out and shuttered.

It was perhaps just waiting to ease the heart of one final guest.

Glorfindel hurried from the balconies toward the stables, determined to meet the new arrival part of the way. A house once thick with activity, where everywhere he turned he would run into somebody whether he wanted to or not, had been reduced to emptied halls. From the suite of rooms he maintained until he was out the gates on bare horseback, he ran into no one and it was not at all so strange, anymore.

The last time he saw Legolas was radically different.

 _In Gondor, Aragorn was about to be crowned the ruler of his reclaimed, hard-won Kingdom. Glorfindel had arrived from Imladris just before the beginning of the ceremonies, bearing with him Elessar's a secret prize – the Evenstar. He barely had time to change into his high formal wear from his traveling clothes, before he had to rush from his appointed rooms to a hall in the glorious White City, where representatives from other realms gathered in wait before the start of the formalities._

 _He expected Legolas would be there as part of the elven contingent preparing to parade into the ceremonies as arranged by protocol. But they encountered each other the same way as before; one moment Legolas was not there and the next, he simply was._

 _It felt as if the thick, resplendent crowds parted for them, and the sun rose higher and shone on his golden wood-elf. Legolas stood facing him, unsurprised by his arrival, catching his gaze right away. His lips curved into a gentle smile._

But something is amiss, _Glorfindel thought as he walked forward and looked upon the deceptively serene, beautiful countenance of the Prince gradually looming before him._

 _He was not sure why. Legolas looked not merely fit and unharmed, but strong. Victorious. He became the royal with commitment again, in a silvery tunic that caught the sunlight and matched the winking circlet on his noble forehead. This was Thranduil's son, Oropher's grandson, heir to a kingdom, prince of the woods... but also now, his own person. Legolas Greenleaf, one of the Nine Walkers, veteran of many battles, victor against unlikely odds, master of bow and knife and there are even whispers of a felled_ mumakil _or two, companion of Elessar, dear friend to man, elf, hobbit and of all unlikely things, dwarf too. He had become his own legend._

 _But as they stood almost toe to toe, in front of each other in the White City, Glorfindel felt that something was amiss with the prince. Something discordant. Something not quite right. If the last time Glorfindel had seen him in Rivendell and had been up against a forbidding wall, the Legolas before him was open and beautiful but flighty and less tangible, like the mirage of an oasis, a comforting lie in the middle of a vast, parched desert._

 _They clasped each other about the arms again, in familiar greeting of brothers-in-arms. But this time, their touches stayed._

 _"When did you arrive, my lord?" Legolas asked, delightedly._

 _"Just minutes past," Glorfindel replied, "I am here officially as escort of the Evenstar from Imladris, but along the road I've realized I might have come more as nursemaid to Elrond instead."_

 _They both glanced in the direction of the elven Lord of Imladris, who stood apart from everyone else in apparent contemplation of his life. He looked both proud and happy but also inescapably morose over having to give up his daughter to a mortal man._

 _"I can imagine it," Legolas said gently. "Ah but no better person she could have – even with the promise of death."_

 _"Our Estel has won you over, has he?"_

 _Legolas smiled. "I understand he grew up in Imladris after the conflicts of my home hardened and I've ceased visiting. I missed him by a hair. I wish I'd seen it. He's become dear to me, you see. I fear I regret every moment that I did not know him, for time is already too short and runs too quickly. But to lighter things we must dwell, for this is a good day, is it not? I am delighted you are here. Will you be staying long?"_

 _"Until the wedding at least," Glorfindel replied, and though he hesitated momentarily at what such effusive praise for Estel might mean for him and Legolas, his heart was reassured by how the wood-elf's smile widened and brightened at news that they would have time in Gondor together._

 _"I mean to do the same-" Legolas started to say, but he cut himself off abruptly, and his eyes took on an abstract glaze. The smile faded from his lips and perforce, also faded from Glorfindel's. Legolas mind was suddenly elsewhere, and when Glorfindel's soul reached out for the other's, he heard the insistent cry of the gulls and the crashing waves of the sea._

 _Glorfindel sucked in a long, careful breath, knowing the sounds and sensations for the sea-longing. He waited patiently for Legolas to return to himself. When one defies this call, Glorfindel knew, one draws the soul back from a distant place, piece by painful piece. One wrenches the self apart from where it belongs and puts it back together, elsewhere. Thus, the moment one is afflicted by sea-longing and until it is heeded, one is_ fractured _. Glorfindel sighed in sympathy. Legolas would find no peace in these beloved lands he had so willingly bled for. He'd given so much for its peace and preservation, only to be forced to leave now._

 _The last time they saw each other, they were in Rivendell, standing on the brink of destruction. Across a veritable chasm of obligations later, here they were in victory. They were on the brink of a bright new age with Aragorn's crowing, and his beloved wood-elf was standing in front of him beautiful and unharmed. But inside, Legolas' fractured mind kept shifting. He was no longer fully here, in this place he helped to save._

 _Legolas all but_ reconstructed _himself before Glorfindel's eyes. It was almost always going to be a reconstruction, from this point forward._

 _"Father had sent some councilors and soldiers to stand with me today as his representatives," Legolas suddenly said, moving to an entirely different topic with no acknowledgement of his momentary lapse. "He could not come himself, what with all the war damage to our forests requiring his undivided attention. They told me you, my lord, spent some time in my home during the worst of the fighting under the trees. Were you not going to tell me?"_

 _"We are but mere moments into seeing each other again, are we not?" Glorfindel said gently. "I would have gotten to it, eventually."_

 _"They said your presence was instrumental to our victory," Legolas said, his voice wavering, "you fought in my homeland, alongside my father when I could not. I will forever be in your debt."_

 _"There is no debt to pay, Legolas," Glorfindel said. "The Elvenking had things well in hand, we were not so direly needed."_

 _"It was good Imladris could spare you."_

 _"As the war unfolded," said Glorfindel, "it became rapidly clear that with enemy forces repelled by the realms surrounding Rivendell, we had no reason to expect immediate danger. By your efforts here in Gondor and at Helm's Deep prior, and by the fall of Isengard, an impending attack upon us seemed unlikely. In the meantime the Lord Elrond sent out reinforcements for our kin facing the enemy elsewhere. It was both my duty and honor to offer my assistance." Glorfindel hesitated. "It was also... it was also for you. So that, so that you may have a home to return to. It was all I could offer."_

 _Legolas worked his lip anxiously. "Home._ Home... _"_

 _He drifted again, and Glorfindel knew the concept was now changed, more amorphous for the Prince who had already been called to the home of the elves across the sea._

 _"There was a fire," Legolas suddenly said. "I was informed many parts of my land burned. It could not have been easy for you. I know you dislike it with a passion."_

It is only the summer, _Glorfindel remembered repeating in his head, over and over, in the voice of his beloved as he fought beneath the burning trees._ It is only the summer...

 _"You gave me courage," Glorfindel admitted after a long moment._

 _"You were caught in fires," Legolas murmured distractedly, "I was leagues away swept by waters of the sea."_

 _Glorfindel nodded grimly. "Well it seems the call has been awakened firmly within you. You've done good work upon the Earth and if you mean to sail soon, this is perhaps a journey we can make together."_

 _"No."_

 _Glorfindel's brows raised. "No?"_

 _Legolas shook his head, and he chewed his lip in anxious thought. "There is still so very much to see and do."_

 _"The call will not suffer defiance for very long, princeling..."_

 _But Legolas barely heard him. "I mean to sate myself with the joys of this land before I go – in its wondrous places, but most especially in its wondrous people. Gimli will tour these lands with me, and we will help Aragorn make repairs to his city. We went through places on the way here too, badly ravaged, ill-used you know, brutalized. I will fix it. And adar of course, he must have first command of all my time. Home must be restored and any lingering evil dispelled, I've been lax in my attentions upon it long enough..."_

 _Even as they spoke and stood close together, Glorfindel could see himself diminishing in Legolas' crowded mind. Relegated to the edges, a smaller and smaller part of Legolas' immediate life in favor of the things he needed to do next. It was... painful._

 _"Ah, I run on too long," Legolas said with a sheepish smile. He fell silent, but Glorfindel could feel his soul and his mind skipping along from thought to thought to thought, all of them hovering lightly just above the song of the deep, crashing, insistent sea. It was almost as if Legolas feared that stopping would give it some ground by which to flourish, like a storm-swelled river finding a crack in the withholding dam._

 _"I have bored you now," Legolas added wryly, into Glorfindel's silence._

 _A protocol officer called for the attention of the elven party. It was time now to assemble properly, for soon they would move forward and come before the returning King of Gondor and Arnor._

 _"We must go," Legolas said, beginning to turn away._

 _Glorfindel could not help himself. He grabbed at the other elf's arm. Legolas jolted alert, and lashed out at the other elf. It was only by Glorfindel's quick reflexes that he caught the Prince mid-strike. Their movements caught the eye of the people around them, and Glorfindel ushered a shaking Legolas to quiet corner._

 _"Forgive me," Legolas said softly, "It's these blasted nerves."_

 _"The failing is mine," Glorfindel returned. "I was not thinking."_

 _Because in the midst of Legolas' latest malady, Glorfindel's desperation clouded his knowledge that Legolas was suffering not only the still-raw survival instincts of a war veteran, but also the hypervigilance of one who had survived the worst kind of torture. He reached for the other's fea with his chastised own, tentatively. Legolas' soul at that moment felt like it was being tossed in a stormy sea. Glorfindel sent him thoughts of warm and quiet, but it was just a small light in the middle of a tempest. He felt Legolas cling to it just the same, and it eased his mind and heart to find the younger elf trying to anchor himself._

 _Legolas closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you, my lord."_

 _When he opened them again he looked more centered, and Glorfindel could feel the other elf collecting himself again, brick by brick, fixing, rebuilding. He was doing it inside for his mind and soul, but Glorfindel could see Legolas' hands physically twitching too. No wonder he found such refuge in thoughts of works and tasks._

 _Glorfindel felt it again, the way he diminished in Legolas' crowded mind, pushed to the periphery, becoming smaller and smaller. If it meant Legolas' salvation, Glorfindel could bear it. But there was one thing he had to do, for himself._

 _"Legolas," the ancient warrior implored the prince, "Please. Do not forget me."_

 _It meant many things –_ Do what you need to do. Go where you wish. Be who you need to be. Push me to the edges, diminish me. But do not... do not obliterate me. Keep me in your heart. I love you so I can wait. I will wait...

 _Even with his drifting, distracted mind, Legolas understood. He nodded and returned, sadly, sweetly –_

 _"Do not lose hope in me..."_

Glorfindel did not.

He rode hard toward the approaching wood-elf. They met a few paces away from each other on a narrow, cobbled road lined by trees. The road was not kept in its old pristine fashion, and upon it were twigs and rotted foliage from the previous season, plastered wet by thawing snow. But the curving branches overhead, still-winter-barren, were generously dotted by sprigs of promised spring leaves.

Legolas dismounted his horse, and pulled his cloak away from his face. He let his beast follow on its own time as he walked toward Glorfindel, who had done the same.

There was a cackle of energy in the air as they stalked closer and closer together; it might have been by virtue of the cracking lightning and the rumbling thunder of the impending rain, it might have been just the looming nearness of one another. Either way, it was indisputably there, charging the empty distance that slowly shortened between them.

Legolas, Glorfindel realized, looked inexplicably younger. Elves ceased aging after a point, but they were not supposed to turn back time! Yet somehow, the wood-elf before him harbored a softness he had not seen since they first met in Imladris all those years ago. Perhaps it was the vulnerability of his grief for his fallen Aragorn, Glorfindel thought, though as they came closer and closer together and he reached out to Legolas by the spirit, there was a quiet, calm strength to him. Like solid, steady rock – dense, firm, grounded. Waves could crash against this, Glrofindel knew, and the water could shape and weather it, but it will always stand. Legolas it seemed, had found his peace, even in grief. He wasn't returned to Glorfindel broken. He returned, transformed.

They stopped an arm away from each other.

"I had no right nor courage to hope you would be here," Legolas said softly. "What we had spanned such a short time all those years ago, and I've been remiss in seeking you in the lifetime since. I didn't forget you, my lord, not at all. I've thought of you often, but I did not know how to write you and what to say, or if I even deserved or was still able to command the barest of your attentions at all." He reached, tentatively, for the strands of hair on Glorfindel's shoulder. He had done that, when they first met.

"You look the same," Legolas said softly.

"I _feel_ the same," Glorfindel told him.

Legolas smiled at him shyly, and lowered his hand over Glorfindel's chest, above his heart.

"I mean to sail soon, bearing Elvellon with me," Legolas said. "He is away, making his goodbyes and I came from the same, with _adar_."

"How fares the Elvenking?"

"More inclined to stay than go," Legolas said wryly, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with warmth and love, "There is no surprise there. He distrusts those who will come to inherit the earth after us, even as he understands our time is ending. But perhaps my sailing is just the motivation he needs."

Glorfindel knew it was the motivation he himself, needed.

"He said something to me before I left," Legolas continued. "Adar steered me this way, said I should see Rivendell before going on. His words brought me to the path of, of Aragorn once." Pain streaked across his eyes, "and we know where that led, the joys it brought. I wondered what this would bring and here you are."

"I am sorry," Glorfindel said, "for the loss of Estel."

"I am sorry too," Legolas said, voice wavering slightly. "You knew him since he was a child. I cannot imagine it. I long knew this was coming but it is... it is different, when his passing finally came."

"What is the difference?"

"I wasn't sure I would survive," Legolas admitted quietly. He pressed his lips together and gathered himself. "Yet here I am." He smiled grimly. "Here we are. I was not aware you remained when the household closed, my lord. I came thinking I would be saying goodbye to a place that had once meant so much. I didn't think I would be saying..."

"Hello," Glorfindel finished for him with a smile of his own. He started to close the distance between them and leaned forward, but the wood-elf was faster. Legolas threw his arms around the other elf's neck and staked his claim upon the ancient warrior.

The clouds broke over them, sending down a shower of rain and by the gods, Glorfindel could have sworn they once again felt like hundreds of thousands of cool, tiny fingers drumming against his skin, a song of the Earth, a shower of kisses from the heavens...

When they pulled away from each other, breathless and drenched, Glorfindel looked down at his wood-elf hungrily.

"Let's get you inside," he told him, taking his hand and leading the way. They walked thus, holding onto each other, over battered cobblestone paths cleansed by rainwater. They let their elven-trained horses follow on their own time. They walked under the deluge, until the still-magnificent Main House came into view. There were still elves about the property, but so few that they ran into no one.

It was empty, but with Legolas' hand in his, Glorfindel felt his heart and home was full.

"It is more beautiful than ever," Legolas said breathlessly beside him, and Glorfindel frowned as he looked at the once carefully pruned and maintained mix of elven structures and foliage. They were weathered now, beginning to be caught and tangled in each other. Vines and branches wound around columns, and grasses grew from cracks on the floors. But the prince was being serious, and his eyes were entranced as he looked about him.

"The Earth reclaims it," Legolas said with wonder. He did not see diminishment and decay, Glorfindel realized, he saw transformation. The ancient warrior tried to see Imladris from this borrowed light, and looked upon the twining vines and branches upon stone not as restriction, but as embrace. He looked at the grasses not as ill-maintenance, but life, fighting its way through.

He found a smile tugging at his lips.

 _The world_ , he thought, _it changes when one loves and is loved... A house is empty but by your presence it is full. A land I thought diminished is just wild and in its own way beautiful. Where I once saw decay there is suddenly, only change and transformation. Rain will never just be the rain again, because once beneath the broken skies, we kissed and you restored magic and wonder into my life. In all these things, the only difference between sorrow and salvation is a token change - you are here and you love me_.

"You are here and you love me," Glorfindel murmured.

Legolas looked at him in mild confusion. "I've always loved you."

"I mean to follow you when you go," Glorfindel said, and he tried to chuck at Legolas' chin. "Try and stop me, princeling."

The wood-elf's quick hands caught his, but instead of the quaking fear and violence that had once powered those reflexes, Legolas' grip was firm and warm. He kissed at the older warrior's knuckles and held it over his heart.

"I actually hoped you would already be waiting for me there," Legolas said wryly.

 **THE END**

August 31, 2018


End file.
